


See No Evil

by TheGiantSquid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mystery, Rimming, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-19
Updated: 2006-08-18
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGiantSquid/pseuds/TheGiantSquid
Summary: After Draco is blinded in an accident that wasn’t quite an accident after all, Ron takes him in and soon discovers that not everything, or everyone, is as it seems...





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Mediwitches/wizards are the equivalent of nurses in this fic. Major thanks to [](http://mr-yer-on-fire.livejournal.com/profile)[**mr_yer_on_fire**](http://mr-yer-on-fire.livejournal.com/) and [](http://abigail89.livejournal.com/profile)[**abigail89**](http://abigail89.livejournal.com/) for all their help in making this story happen, and a lot of worshiping to Tarie, because this is sooo late D: And to [](http://ceilidh.livejournal.com/profile)[**ceilidh**](http://ceilidh.livejournal.com/), this is for you, my dear. You wanted plot and something you could sink your teeth into. I pray I delivered :) Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/sunandsmut/profile)[**sunandsmut**](http://community.livejournal.com/sunandsmut/).

Other pairings: Ron/OMC; past Ron/Hermione, unrequited Ron/Harry

* * *

“What the hell happened?” Ron demanded as he struggled to follow Tonks down a narrow corridor at St. Mungo’s.  
  
“Explosion in the Potions lab,” she said, rounding a corner and continuing down the hallway. “Wesley Scott, the Potions master, was killed instantly. He took the brunt of the explosion, but Malfoy was still severely injured.”  
  
“What are they?” Ron asked. “And why am I being called in for this? My specialty lies elsewhere—”  
  
“The burns were very bad, as were the lacerations caused by the shattering glass,” Tonks interrupted breathlessly. “But the Healers on call were able to treat them. It’s his eyes, Ron.”  
  
Before Ron could say another word, they had arrived at the special victims ward. Upon passing through the doors, he could immediately make out the anguished cries and groans coming from down the corridor.  
  
“That him?”  
  
Tonks nodded and began to lead him towards the room. “Everything’s healed except for his eyes. The combination of flying glass and the chemicals in the potions tore them up. He’s in so much pain, and generally being himself, that we can’t question him about the incident until he’s calmed down.”  
  
“I’ll do my best,” Ron muttered just before entering Malfoy’s room. “Why hasn’t he been Stunned yet?” he barked to the nearest Healer, who recoiled slightly.  
  
“We were waiting for you, sir,” she stammered.  
  
With a grunt, Ron raised his wand, aimed it straight at Draco Malfoy’s heart, and uttered the words for the Stunning Spell. A second later, the room was finally quiet. Striding over to Malfoy’s bed, Ron began examining the patient while he listened to the man’s stats.  
  
“Heart rate is normal, a bit accelerated due to the circumstances,” said the head Mediwitch, Florence Angels. “The burns are nearly completely healed, now, and the deepest of the lacerations have been taken care of. He had trouble breathing earlier, due to the smoke and other gases from the explosion and resulting fire. As you may have noticed, of course, Mr. Malfoy’s eyes took a direct hit. For some reason, he did not raise his hands to shield his face as most people instinctively do.”  
  
Ron ran his wand over Malfoy’s body and pursed his lips when a light emanating from the tip turned red. “Who was the Healer in charge of Malfoy?” he asked Angels.  
  
“O’Shaughnessy, sir.”  
  
“Get her in here.”  
  
Angels waved her wand and a streak of light shot out of the end. A few minutes later, Maureen O’Shaughnessy strolled into the room. Ron gritted his teeth before turning to face the woman.  
  
“What’s the problem here, Healer Weasley?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“Tell me, Healer O’Shaughnessy,” he began, turning back to Malfoy’s body and running his wand once more over the man’s closed eyes, “upon your initial evaluation, did you bother to run a full diagnostic scan?”  
  
“Of course I did,” she said indignantly, striding forward and peering around Ron’s wide form. Judging from her slight gasp, however, he figured that she had missed that particular problem.  
  
“Notice it now, do you?” he said softly. The red light slowly began to change to a more menacing black color. “Dark magic, O’Shaughnessy. Did you eve n stop to wonder why Mr. Malfoy was in so much pain? No, of course not, because he’s just a Malfoy, right?”  
  
“I missed it,” she snapped, stepping back and crossing her arms. “A mistake, but it’s been corrected now, so if we could move on to the appropriate treatment—”  
  
“No, I’m afraid that’s not it,” Ron informed her in a dangerous voice. Straightening up so that he could tower over her, he continued, “As I understand it, this explosion took place early this afternoon, around three. Correct?” A few Mediwitches nodded in agreement; Maureen sneered at him. “Then why did it take you five hours to seek my counsel, Healer O’Shaughnessy? You mean to tell me that you allowed Draco Malfoy to suffer like that for five hours? That’s bordering on cruel, Maureen.”  
  
“Don’t you dare talk to me that way,” she hissed. “I did everything within my power and knowledge to heal that—that man. You’re lucky I didn’t let him perish—”  
  
“Get out!” Ron thundered at her. Despite Maureen’s stubbornness, she knew Ron’s temper, and with a sniff, she twirled on her heel and flounced out of the room. Blowing out a relieved breath, Ron turned back to the remaining Mediwitches and said, “Well, what are you all waiting for? Let’s try to save this man’s sight,” and the room immediately erupted in noise and activity.  
  
~*~

Several hours later, Ron found himself attacked by reporters the moment he exited Malfoy’s room. As he tried to fight the off, a patch of bright pink hair rescued him from the throng of people.  
  
“You all right?” Tonks asked, looking concerned. Ron nodded and smiled gratefully. She smiled back and then motioned him to follow. Near the end of a deserted corridor, Ron could see Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for them. The two men shook hands and then Tonks said, “Would it be all right if we ask you a few questions?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
She nodded and flipped open a small notebook she had pulled out of a pocket. “Okay…Since we already know Malfoy’s going to recover from the explosion. So…When do you expect his vision to return?”  
  
“I suppose it’s a question of whether it’ll return at all,” Ron replied slowly  
  
Kingsley leaned forward and said, “What do you mean by that?”  
  
Ron scrubbed at his face tiredly. He’d been working on Malfoy for several hours, and very little progress had been made in that time. “Since Scott was killed and Malfoy is currently unconscious, we have no clue what types of Potions they were working on at the time. I’ve already contacted Hermione to see if we could get access to the files, but it might be a while yet.” Ron took a deep gulp of much needed coffee. “Additionally, since I’ve detected some Dark magic embedded in the injuries around Malfoy’s eyes, some of those potions very well may have been, oh, dangerous or illegal in the first place, meaning that it’s unlikely that they would have documented those types of indiscretions.”  
  
Kingsley nodded. “The explosion was Dark itself, so it’s possible that the potions may have been affected.”  
  
Groaning slightly, Ron slumped against the wall behind him. “I was afraid of that.”  
  
“Why?” asked Tonks.  
  
Focusing on her pink hair, Ron began, “If what’s causing Malfoy’s blindness was brought on solely by Dark magic, then we’d bring in a team of specialized Healers. Me, for instance, but I’m not an expert at Dark magic; my job is to heal physically and mentally. But Malfoy’s injuries are a result of a combination of magic, volatile substances, and abrasions. Healing him is going to take a lot of time and a lot of patience.”  
  
Tonks flipped her notebook closed and blew out a breath. “You’ll let us know when he’s awake and…more himself?” she asked.  
  
Ron nodded. “Yes, of course...If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back in there. Good night, you two.”  
  
“’Bye, Ron,” the two Aurors chorused, and Ron was left alone in the deserted corridor.  
  
~*~

“Fancy meeting you here.”  
  
With a start, Ron set down his shot of Firewhisky and looked up blearily. Standing over him was a slim, curly-haired blond man with light green eyes and a five o’clock shadow. Smiling slightly, Ron indicated for the man to sit down at his table. He was at the Leaky Cauldron currently trying to get as drunk as possible and still function as a human being.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink during the week,” the man commented quietly, eyeing the many empty shot glasses littering the table. Ron had to strain to hear the man’s words over the general roar of the Leaky Cauldron’s many guests and patrons.  
  
“Yeah, well, I’ve had one hell of a day,” Ron said, proud that he wasn’t slurring. “I thought you were in Canada, Richie.”  
  
Shaking his head and grinning, Richard Maus leaned forward and took a sip of the alcohol himself, shuddering as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. “Came back early,” he said, watching Ron closely. “The conference was boring as fuck and there were too many Americans for my taste. Besides, I was hoping for a quick shag.”  
  
Ron snorted, but grinned despite himself. “No offense, Richie, but I’m afraid you came to the wrong bloke. I have one bitch of a headache and I don’t think I’d be much company.”  
  
Richard frowned and leaned forward. “What’s the matter? What happened?”  
  
Sighing, Ron sloshed the alcohol about in his glass for a moment before saying, “Just a long day. A former...acquaintance of mine was severely injured last night, and then I had to deal with incompetent Healers, Aurors up my arse every five seconds, and just general shite.”  
  
“It was Malfoy, wasn’t it?”  
  
Ron’s head shot up. “How’d you hear about that? I know it wasn’t on the wireless.”  
  
“I stopped by the hospital not long after I arrived here, Ron,” Richard said, looking confused by Ron’s harsh tones. “They told me what happened. That’s why I came looking for you. I stopped by your flat, but when I saw you weren’t there, I began searching random pubs. Lo, here you are.”  
“I’m sorry I snapped,” Ron mumbled, slumping down in his seat. “I s’pose I’m just stressed and tired and…”  
  
“It’s all right,” soothed Richard, as he rubbed a hand up and down Ron’s jean-clad thigh. “I could help you de-stress,” he added in a whisper, settling his hand on Ron’s crotch.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Ron took one last sip of the Firewhisky before rising out of his chair and grabbing Richard by the arm. After the two had stepped outside, Ron Apparated them to an alley behind the building of his flat. Richard didn’t let Ron move a foot, though, as he jerked the taller man against his body and kissed him hard.  
  
~*~

The next morning, Ron woke up with a splitting headache and a feeling of contentment that he often associated with a great shag. Turning his head, he spied Richard’s naked form sleeping soundly on his bed.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  
  
“If you keep saying that word, I just might have to take you up on it,” came Richard’s muffled voice. Poking his head up from beneath a pillow, he squinted at Ron and said, “You look like hell. Go take a potion or something.” And with that, he was asleep again.  
  
With a grunt, Ron rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of wrinkled pajama bottoms, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Spying the clock on the wall, he saw that it was just after eight in the morning. Not particularly looking forward to spending his day with Draco bloody Malfoy, Ron began to make a strong pot of coffee and rummage for some edible food. A loud whooshing noise, however, caused him to take his head out of the refrigerator and walk quickly into the living room just in time to see Harry fall out of his fireplace.  
  
“Hey, mate,” said Ron, helping Harry to his feet, since he never did seem to get the hang of Flooing, which became especially difficult after he’d gotten his leg injury. “What the hell are you doing here so early?” Motioning with his hand, Ron led his best friend back into the kitchen. “I was just making breakfast, d’you want anything?”  
  
“Some coffee would be great, thanks,” Harry replied, and then gulped down the scalding beverage as soon as Ron handed it to him. “I’m on Malfoy’s case,” he suddenly blurted. “Tonks and Kingsley had field work to do, thought I’d be best on the job. Dunno what the hell they were thinking. I’ve been up all night reviewing the accident and medical reports.”  
  
“Were you now?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows. Ever since Harry’s accident two years ago, he’d been assigned to strict desk duty in an attempt to keep him at the Ministry. He’d become quite the investigator in those few short years. Ron knew that Harry was hoping to leave the Ministry soon and start his own investigation company, and hopefully, after he was settled, propose to Luna.  
  
“Yeah.” Harry blew out a breath, then said, “Since you’re now his assigned Healer, I figured it was all right to go over a few things with you.”  
  
“Sure, Harry. Just gimme a few minutes to dress and then we can talk about it over breakfast.”  
  
Ron didn’t have a chance to leave the room, however, before Richard came sidling in wearing nothing but boxers and looking as if he’d had the shag of his life.  
  
Upon spotting Harry, Richard smiled slightly and said, “Hullo, Harry,” before pouring himself a cup of coffee and scratching his arse. Harry’s jaw landed somewhere near his knees and he gave Ron such an incredulous look that he felt himself flush.  
  
Biting his lip, Ron practically pounced on Richard and whispered in his ear, “Richie, Harry and I were just about to talk about Malfoy’s case. Just him and me, you know?”  
  
“Oh.” Richard looked between Ron’s anxious red face and Harry’s gobsmacked expression. “All right. I’ll just be on my way. Nice to see you, Harry. Owl me later, love.” Richard leaned over and gave Ron a wet kiss on the mouth, then exited the kitchen. A few minutes later, the front door could be heard opening and closing.  
  
Several more very awkward minutes passed. Ron scuffed his toe against the floor while Harry continued to sip an empty cup. Finally, Harry said, “I thought you and Richard had called it quits months ago.”  
  
“We did.”  
  
Harry gave him an expectant look. Sighing, Ron plopped down in the chair opposite Harry and said, “I met him last night at the Leaky Cauldron. I was drunk; he was broom-lagged. It was just a shag, a bit of release, that’s all. Don’t worry yourself about it.”  
  
Ron peeked up from beneath his fringe to see his friend frowning. Harry caught his eye then and managed to look chagrined. “You’re right,” he said finally. “Your love life is none of my business. Let’s talk about Malfoy, shall we?”  
  
Chuckling, Ron nodded and got up from the table to dress and then to serve breakfast. Once they were eating and had caught up on the local news (apparently Seamus was seen all but shagging Lavender Brown last weekend in Hogsmeade on a table at the Three Broomsticks), they began discussing Malfoy’s case.  
  
“All right,” Harry mumbled as he opened up a large file, “lessee...Okay. So, after further investigation by on-site Aurors, we can now confirm that the blast was caused by Dark magic originating from a wand. Unfortunately, given the potions and fumes that resulted, we aren’t able to pinpoint the spell that was initially used.” Harry sat back in his chair and rubbed his stubbly chin.  
  
“Additionally, there are observation charms set up all over the Ministry and St. Mungo’s. We tried to reveal the events surrounding the explosion, but apparently the perpetrator knew about these charms and deactivated them. We never saw his face.”  
  
“ _His_ face?” Ron interrupted, leaning forward. “How d’you know it’s a he?”  
  
“Well, he might’ve been smart, but not that smart,” Harry said, looking a bit smug. “He deactivated the vision aspect of the spell, but not the aural. We heard everything that occurred between Wesley Scott and the attacker before the explosion. Now, this is where it gets a bit odd.”   
  
Harry stood and limped over to the counter in order to pour himself another cup of coffee. Once seated, he said, “Whoever this bloke is, he speaks German, and from what our linguists say, it’s natural German—no trace of an accent. They think he was born into the language. They’re also saying that it’s official German, or something; they keep going on about no dialect. Anyway, he and Scott were arguing in German, and then all things went to hell. I’ve heard the recording, but I haven’t a clue what they’re saying. The translators are working on that and should get it back to us soon.”  
  
Frowning, Ron shoveled one more bite of eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Swallowing, he said, “It had to’ve been an inside job. How else would he have known about the charms. Not too many people know about them. Only the higher-ups. People like me and Richard.”  
  
“Exactly,” Harry murmured. “Which means we’ve got a killer among us. Listen, Ron. When Malfoy wakes up, will you contact me as soon as possible? I’ll need to interview him about the chain of events.”  
  
“Sure, no problem,” Ron said.  
  
Harry looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to run to the office. Let me know if anything new turns up.”  
  
“You’ve got it.”  
  
Ron walked Harry to his fireplace and watched as his friend Flooed away in a whirl of green flames.  
  
~*~

“Good morning, Healer Weasley.”  
  
“Good morning, Lucia,” Ron replied to his secretary at St. Mungo’s. “Any more developments with Malfoy?”  
  
“Florence came by earlier,” she said as she followed Ron into his office. “They’ve removed the Stunning Spell, but he still hasn’t woken up yet. Otherwise, his condition is the same.”  
  
Ron nodded absently and began to read his post. “What about the investigation into the explosion?”  
  
“I think I can help with that.”  
  
Ron’s head snapped up and he broke into a huge grin when he saw the familiar bushy-haired witch standing in his doorway. “Hermione! Come in, come in.”  
  
After Lucia had scurried out of the office and closed the door behind her, Ron and Hermione embraced, albeit awkwardly. Pulling back, and still grinning stupidly, he said, “You look amazing. Look at this!” Cupping Hermione’s protruding belly with his hands, Ron sank to his knees and pressed his ear against her abdomen. “Hello in there,” he said, his bright eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s me, Uncle Ronnie. Who’s my favorite baby? Whosit?”  
  
Laughing, Hermione batted Ron away and dropped into the nearest chair with an _oompf_. “Stop that,” she scolded teasingly.  
  
Not to be deterred, Ron scuttled over to her on his knees and began talking to her tummy again. “Don’t listen to her, poppet, she’s just jealous of the lovely bond we hold.” Looking up, he asked, “How is baby Ronald?”  
  
“We’re not naming him Ronald,” she replied with a chuckle. “Neville and I’ve decided on a name, though, finally: Michael Benjamin.”  
  
“Michael Benjamin Granger-Longbottom,” he echoed, blinking. “That poor child’s going to have the longest name ever. Hmm…though I suppose it’ll do,” he murmured, turning his attention back to the baby. “Though it’s still not as good as Ronald.”  
  
“Of course it isn’t,” Hermione soothed, running her fingers through Ron’s hair. “Get up, now, you’re squishing me.”  
  
Hauling himself up, he planted a quick kiss to Hermione’s forehead and then went to sit behind his desk. “How are you, love? And the baby? And Neville?” he asked.  
  
Hermione rubbed her stomach and smiled a little. “I’m doing well, and so is the baby. We’re right on schedule, so expect little Michael here to be born in three weeks. Hopefully Neville will be back from Florida by then.”  
  
“How’s his research coming?”  
  
Hermione’s face lit up, and Ron panicked. It was her “I’m So Excited About Research and I’m Going to Tell Everyone” face. Although he was interested in the experiments Neville was conducting in the Florida Everglades, he didn’t really have the time at the moment to listen to what looked like was going to be a good hour-long explanation. “Oh, it’s going really great!”  
  
“Er, actually, um—” Ron bit his lip and cast wildly about in his mind. Why was Hermione here again?  
  
“You said you have information about Malfoy’s case?” he asked quickly  
It worked. Hermione’s mouth shut with a snap, and for a moment she looked confused, but then she composed herself and pulled out a large manila folder. “This is from the translators and this packet here contains the potions that Scott and Malfoy were working on at the time of the explosion.”  
  
Opening the folder, Ron skimmed over the potion list. “I’m not seeing anything here that would be considered Dark,” he said, frowning. “Hermione, if your department had them working on some kind of potion you don’t want the rest of the world to know about, I understand that, but I need to know in order to help with Malfoy’s recovery. You can trust me.”  
  
“Ron, I know I can trust you,” she said, leaning forward and looking him straight in the eye. “But I swear to you, that list is it. We didn’t have them working on anything new, just already known potions. The full moon is approaching, and after the Werewolf Freedom Act of 2000 was passed by the Ministry—”  
  
“That _you_ passed.”  
  
“After it was passed,” she repeated, blushing, “the production and distribution of Wolfsbane to all werewolves became the responsibility of the Wizarding government. Wesley Scott and Draco Malfoy are the only two wizards under Ministry contract who can make the potion, so it falls— _fell_ on them. That’s all they’d been working on for the past week leading up to the explosion.”  
  
“All right, all right,” he conceded. “Then the attacker produced the Dark magic alone. Fantastic...”  
  
“You want to know what else is fantastic?” Hermione asked. “Read the transcript between the attacker and Scott.”  
  
Ron flipped through a few pages and then frowned. Grumbling to himself, he patted at the pockets of his robes until he found his reading glasses. He slipped them on, ignoring Hermione’s teasing, “So sexy,” and began to read.  
  


> _26 October 2004  
>  Ministry of Magic  
> Department of Magical Research and Development  
> Head: Hermione J. Granger-Longbottom  
> Committee on Experimental Potions  
> Head: Wesley T. Scott [deceased]  
> Apprentice: Draco L. C. O. Malfoy_

Ron stopped reading and looked up. “Draco L. C. O. Malfoy?” he said incredulously. “I lied; _his_ name is the longest in history.”  
  
“Oh, hush up and read.”

>   
>  _Below is a translated conversation between Wesley Scott (WS), Draco Malfoy (DM), and an unidentified wizard (UW) that took place on 24 October 2004 at approximately 20:40 hours.:_
> 
> _WS: Make sure you slice along the peripheral edge of that seed. Best way to get all the juice.  
>  DM: I was taught to flatten the seed with the side of my knife in order to get the most amount of juice, sir.  
> WS: [long pause] Did the Death Eater teach ya that, boy?  
> DM: Yes. And sir, I’m twenty-four years old. Do not call me boy.  
> WS: Listen to me, boy, I’m gonna give you some good advice and I expect you to follow it, d’you hear? Whatever it is that Death Eater told you, you need to ignore, to forget. It won’t help ya, d’you hear? Your loyalty to scum like that is what’s holdin’ ya back, boy.  
> DM: Stop calling me boy! [silence, then approaching footsteps]  
> UW: Excuse me. I need to speak with Master Scott.  
> WS: Well what are you doing all the way down here so late?  
> UW: I was hoping to speak with Malfoy alone.  
> WS: I...What?  
> UW: Draco Malfoy, I want to speak with him.  
> WS: Wait—Hey! Wait, you can’t—put that down! Draco! No!  
> DM: Get away from—Wesley! Fuck, help! Somebody! [loud scuffle ensues]  
> UW: Get out of my way, Scott!  
> WS: Let him go! [glass breaks, screaming and shouting]  
> DM: Wesley, look out!  
> UW: Stop interfering, old man! _Avada Kedavra! _  
> DM: NO! [loud thump, scuffling, gasping]  
>  UW: Put him down!  
> DM: What? I don’t speak German, you idiot!  
> UW: Let him go and stand up to face your death like a man!  
> DM: SOMEBODY HELP US!  
> UW: _Silencio! _If you wish to die on the ground like an animal, then so be it._ Avada Kedavra! _[explosion]_
> 
> _[Recording ends]_   
> 

Ron slowly lowered the transcript and took off his glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his robes. “The attacker cast the Killing Curse, but Malfoy’s obviously not dead, so...he must have dived, or—or thrown something that blocked the spell, causing the explosion, which would explain why he didn’t shield his face.”  
  
Looking back over the document, he said, “Scott must have known the wizard—he asked him why he was down in the potions lab so late...Turns out...”  
  
“It was to kill Malfoy,” Hermione concluded softly. “Possibly revenge, though for what, we don’t know, and won’t know, until Malfoy wakes up and can tell us.”  
  
“ _If_ he can tell us,” Ron murmured.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Ron paused for a few moments to think. “When he wakes, he’s going to be hurting, not just physically, but mentally. He’s blind now, and even if that blindness is only temporary, it can still be both shocking and debilitating for him. It’s going to take a lot of adjusting for Malfoy—he won’t be allowed a wand until his eyesight returns and he’ll be dependent upon others for help in simple every day activities, such as eating, dressing, and even bathing and other activities contained in the loo.” Leaning back in his chair, Ron absently paged through the file in front of him. “It’ll take a while for him to adjust. Hopefully he’ll be able to utilize the senses that remain in order to help him on his way to recovery. However, if he does...end up permanently blind, then we’ll see about getting either transplants or the advanced orbs like the kind Moody used to have.”  
  
Hermione suppressed a wince badly. “What? What is it?” Ron asked.  
  
“Well...” she began, “you see, the reason Malfoy was working as an apprentice was because, well...After Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to death in 2000, the Ministry seized all his assets, which included all his money. Draco and his mum were completely Knutless after that, so he had to go and work for a living. When the potions apprenticeship opened up, he jumped at the chance and he’s been doing that ever since.”  
  
“What about his mother?” said Ron. “Whatever happened to her?”  
  
“Well, she managed to survive the war, but she fell down a flight of stairs a couple of years ago and broke her neck. She died.”  
  
“Damn,” he muttered. “Malfoy’s not exactly been the luckiest bloke, has he?”  
  
“He was also under heavy Ministry protection for a while back,” Hermione informed Ron. “Apparently he’d been getting death threats from former and unaccounted-for Death Eaters. I suppose they didn’t appreciate being betrayed by him when he came to our side during the war.”  
  
“No kidding.”  
  
Hermione snorted delicately. She looked at her watch then, and said, “I’d best be off now. There’s a ton of paperwork I need to fill out about this whole disaster. Let me know about any further developments concerning Malfoy.”  
  
Ron smiled and got up from his chair. “Will do, love.”  
  
“Excellent. Now be a doll and help me out of this chair.”  
  
A few acrobatic feats later, Ron managed to get Hermione out of the chair, and after one last peck on the cheek, he watched her waddle off down the corridor with a smile on his face.  
  
“Healer Weasley, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” came Lucia’s no-nonsense voice. Turning around, Ron was amused to see that the older woman’s grey-streaked black hair was a bit mussed and her wrinkled cheeks were flushed.  
  
“What is it, Lu?”  
  
Lucia huffed at the nickname but ignored it to say, “That— _woman_ —was by to speak with you. I had to argue with her for nearly the entire time you were in your office with Mrs. Granger-Longbottom. That woman is utterly—totally insufferable—just—oh! She is so frustrating and annoying...”  
  
“ _Lucia_. Who are we talking about?” Ron said, fighting back laughter.  
  
“Healer O’Shaughnessy, of course!”  
  
“Ah...” Ron made a face. “Well. Thank you, Lu, for keeping her away from me. I appreciate it, but I suppose I’m going to have to face her eventually. If she stops by again, tell her I’m very busy plucking my eyebrows, but I will be by after my shift is over to see her. I’m off to see Draco Malfoy now.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” she said, writing down a note with a pencil she’d taken from somewhere within her hair. “Also, Harry Potter sent an owl asking about Mr. Malfoy. How should I respond?”  
  
Ron thought for a moment, then said, “Tell him to come on down here. We need to talk.”  
  
Lucia nodded and then wandered back to her desk. Ron stared at a blank wall, thinking, before taking a deep breath and walking down the corridor and towards Malfoy’s room.  
  
~*~

“He, er, just woke up,” said Florence.  
  
“I can see that,” Ron replied wearily, looking at the current wreckage. Malfoy was thrashing about on his bed, shouting at the top of his lungs and struggling against the bindings that were holding him down. The room itself was trashed; debris cluttered the floor, the bed sheets were strewn about, and several decorative potted plants were now lying in heaps of dirt on the floor.  
  
“Let me out of here! Let me go! Let me go, _let me go, let me go!_ ” Draco screamed from his bed.  
  
“Shall we Stun him again, sir?” Florence asked anxiously.  
  
“No,” Ron said firmly. “Too many of those will bring on catatonia. Let me handle this.”  
  
Ron strode over to Malfoy’s bed. He carefully bent over Malfoy and ran his wand over his body and eyes, especially. While he was now fully cured from his injuries in the explosion, Malfoy’s eyes were still damaged by Dark properties.  
  
Malfoy’s screams were dying down but he was still struggling against the bonds. His eyes were wide open, and even though he could not see, Ron could tell that Malfoy was extremely frightened and scared.  
  
“I know someone’s near me!” Malfoy said wildly. “I can feel you! Let me go! Do you have any idea who I am, you imbecile? Tell me what happened to my eyes! Remove the charms or—or whatever they are and let me see!”  
  
Ron placed his wand on the nightstand next to the bed and he noticed that Malfoy turned his head in the same direction. His eyes were still darting about the room frantically.  
  
“You heard that, didn’t you?” Ron asked is a soft voice. Malfoy stopped shouting and only his heavy breathing could be heard. Ron watched him carefully and then said, “Your other senses are already strengthening, becoming more acute. They’re making up for the lack of sight.”  
  
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to shout again, but he miraculously held himself back for once. He stopped struggling against the bonds, though Ron could tell that he was still shaking. Ron took a few moments to study Malfoy, having not seen the other man in quite a few years, though Ron hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to seek him out, either. Malfoy’s hair was still as white as ever, but it was short and cropped. Ron suspected that he’d had it cut that way to prevent his hair from getting mixed with the potions. His eyes were still a steely grey color, although now they had a glazed look about them. Otherwise, Malfoy still looked the same as he ever had—his face was still pointy and angled, his eyes slightly slanted, and not even a hint of hair could be seen growing on his chin. Malfoy did seem as if he’d put on some weight, Ron thought, which helped him look less lanky and child-like.  
  
Ron hated to admit it, but Malfoy looked...all right. For a twitchy ferret, anyway.  
  
“So...” Malfoy wheezed, and Ron started. “What are you doing here, Weasley? Come to clean up the mess I made?”  
  
Lip curling, Ron said, “Actually, Draco, I’m your Healer. How’d you recognize me?”  
  
“All weasels smell the same,” he retorted, and then he smirked. Ron couldn’t believe it. Here he was, trying to heal the little bastard, and Malfoy was _smirking_ at him!  
  
“I see you haven’t changed, Draco,” Ron said through gritted teeth. Several Mediwitches backed away slowly.  
  
“Why change something that doesn’t need changing?” Malfoy grinned crookedly. “And I’m Draco now? How kind of you to condescend to call a former Death Eater by its first name.”  
  
“Shut up,” Ron snapped irritably. Malfoy had always had a way of pissing Ron off no matter what he said. Actually, Malfoy’s very existence often just ruffled Ron’s feathers the wrong way. “If you want to get out of those restraints, you’re going to have to show a little bit more respect and courtesy towards myself and my staff.”  
  
Malfoy snorted decisively. “Like how _your staff_ allowed me to suffer in pain the other night?” he sneered.  
  
“I wasn’t in charge of you then,” Ron corrected, and picked up his wand to begin running more diagnostics. The Mediwitches in the room began to go back to their work after having warily watched the exchange between Ron and Malfoy. “But I am now, and if you are in pain, you need to tell me or else we won’t be able to treat you and fix your eyes.”  
  
Malfoy suddenly began struggling against the bonds again. “What happened to my eyes?” he shouted. “Return my sight this instant! I want another Healer! I demand to have another Healer, this one’s incompetent!”  
  
“Fuck,” Ron muttered. He dropped his wand into his robe pocket and leant over Malfoy’s writhing body, pinning the man’s wrists down. Thrusting his face into Malfoy’s, he said in a deadly voice, “Now you listen to me. I’m your Healer, and nothing you say will change that, do you hear me?” Malfoy’s faced twisted in anger but he remained silent. “I’m the only one who can heal you, and frankly, probably the only one who’s willing to put up with your shite. You wanna be a little bitch about everything? Then fine, but remember, you and I are going to be very close over the next few months, so it’s up to you. If you want to cooperate, your eyesight will return much more quickly, but if you continue what you’re doing now, then it’ll be a question of _whether_ your sight will ever return. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
It looked as if it was taking all his energy not to spit in Ron’s face, but after several tense moments, Malfoy finally nodded reluctantly, and Ron backed away. He took his wand back out of his pocket and began running tests again. “You were in an explosion,” he told Malfoy, who’s lip curled as if to say, “No kidding.” Ron rolled his eyes and continued, “You were in an explosion in the potions lab at the Ministry. We know that a man tried to kill you, but Wesley Scott died instead.”  
  
“Wes is dead?” Malfoy interrupted. His face was pale and he looked shocked and a bit distressed.  
  
Ron paused for a moment, frowning. “Yes,” he said slowly.  
  
Malfoy blew out a breath and turned his head away, not answering.  
  
Ron, feeling a bit out of his element for some reason, cleared his throat and said, “From what we understand of what happened, the attacker tried using the Killing Curse, but something interrupted the spell and it caused the explosion. The combination of flying debris, potions, and Dark magic caused the loss of sight. However, we do expect that you could recover your eyesight. There will be an Auror who will be stopping by shortly to ask you about the incident.”  
  
Malfoy’s head whipped around at that. “I don’t want to talk to any Aurors,” he spat.  
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Ron murmured, and then held a glass up to Malfoy’s thin lips. “Here, drink this potion.”  
  
“Let me out of the bonds and I’ll drink it.”  
  
Ron raised his eyebrows and felt impressed in spite of himself. “This isn’t a series of negotiations. This is a restorative draught for your eyes. I reckon you’ll want to take it.”  
  
“There’s no reason to keep me tied down,” Malfoy argued, his voice rising. “What the fuck are you afraid I’ll do? Run?” He laughed caustically.   
  
“Now see, this is a problem,” Ron said, leaning against the bed. “If I let you go, then it might be a signal to you that you can bargain and negotiate your way out of taking potions, or eating, or any other activity, but on the other hand, I don’t see any reason to keep you bound. It’s quite a conundrum, don’t you think?”  
  
“You don’t even know what conundrum means,” Malfoy said viciously. “For fuck’s sake, Weasley, I’ll drink all the bloody potions, just let me go!”  
  
Ron was very tempted to chide Malfoy for his language, but decided against it at the last moment. Instead, he flicked his wand and the invisible bonds holding Malfoy down disappeared. He immediately sat up and brought his wrists together, massaging them.  
  
“Oh, thank you, Weasley. I’m ever so grateful,” he drawled sarcastically. Ron sighed. Some things never changed.  
  
Luckily, Malfoy remained silent for the rest of the examination, for which Ron was extremely thankful. But then Harry had to go and ruin it. Ron was just finishing placing drops into Malfoy’s eyes when the door to his room opened and Harry stepped inside. Malfoy sat up in a flash, his nostrils flaring, and said, “What is _he_ doing here?”  
  
Harry stopped dead in his tracks and gave Ron a stunned look, who in turn gave Malfoy an impressed one. “How’d you tell it was him?” Ron asked.  
  
“All the air in the room disappeared when Potter’s head entered it,” Malfoy said snidely.  
  
“It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Malfoy,” Harry said in false cheerfulness. “Your wit and general sunny disposition are always the bright points in my day. How _do_ you manage to maintain that attitude of yours?”  
  
“Well, one always has an appreciation for life after one was locked away in a high-security prison for a year,” Malfoy returned, his lip curling and eyes narrowing, though he was looking about five feet to the left of where Harry was standing.  
  
“No less than you deserved,” snapped Harry.  
  
“As touching as this little reunion is,” Ron interrupted loudly, “Harry, Malfoy’s awake; Malfoy, Harry’s the Auror that will be taking your official statement. If we could work together in a war, I figure we can work together for this. Now both of you shut the hell up.”  
  
Malfoy threw himself back against his pillows and crossed his arms sulkily, while Harry stormed across the room and came to stand beside his bed. Ron sighed again. This was what it was like during the war, too. Malfoy on one side of the room, Harry on the other, and he and Hermione stuck in the middle maintaining peace. Ron quickly tired of it then, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand for it while they were in his hospital.  
  
Harry pulled out a notepad and quill, and after placing a charm on the quill, said, “This is Auror Harry Potter, interviewing Draco Malfoy about the events that occurred on the evening of 24 October 2004. Today’s date is 26 October 2004 and it is 10:38 in the morning.” Harry paused for a moment, and then asked, “For the record, please state your name, age, and prison identification number.”  
  
Malfoy stared at Harry, though the effect was lost somewhat since he still wasn’t quite looking in the right direction. “Are you kidding me? You just said my name.”  
  
“Just do it, Malfoy!”  
  
He gave a long-suffering sigh and said, “My name is Draco Lucius Cygnus Orion Malfoy, I am twenty-four years old, and my I.D. number is 050680963.”  
  
“Where were you on the night of October 24th?”  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes and then winced.  
  
“Do your eyes hurt?” Ron asked quickly.  
  
“No…” he said. He blinked a few times and then shook his head. He looked up in Harry’s direction and said, “I was working in the Ministry’s potions laboratory with Wesley Scott.”  
  
“What potion or potions were you working on?” Harry asked, the quill scribbling furiously in the background.  
  
“Wolfsbane, mainly,” Malfoy said. “But also a few others for St. Mungo’s, like blood-replenishing and others.”  
  
“Were you working on anything illegal?”  
“Do I look stupid?”  
  
“Answer the question.”  
  
“ _No_ , you idiot,” Malfoy sniped. “Wes wouldn’t have had anything to do with illegal or Dark potions.”  
  
“What were you doing when the unidentified man approached you and Wesley Scott?”  
  
Malfoy frowned and closed his eyes. “I don’t remember,” he said slowly. “I think…slicing or…or cutting up some seeds or ingredients or something.” He opened his eyes, still frowning.  
  
“And Scott? What was he doing?” Harry pressed.  
  
“Just working on a potion.”  
  
“Are you sure? Which potion?”  
  
“Yes, and Wolfsbane. You suck at asking relevant questions, Potter.”  
  
“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron said.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes widened and a small smirk formed on his mouth. “Well, well, look who’s grown a pair since the last time we were together.”  
  
“Shut it,” Harry hissed, “or you’ll regret it. Next question: did you see the attacker when he first approached?”  
  
“No, he stayed in the main area in the front while I remained in the back with the potions.”  
  
“Did you hear what Scott and the other wizard were discussing?”  
  
Malfoy rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck. “No,” he said at last. “They were speaking in German. I only know French, Latin, Italian, and Greek. Father said he didn’t want me learning such a base language.” Ron rolled his eyes.  
  
“What about when he attacked you?” Harry asked. “We know that at one point you two were engaged in a struggle.”  
  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “He jumped me while my back was to him.”  
  
“Did he say anything?”  
  
“What part of ‘I don’t understand German’ don’t you comprehend?”  
  
Harry frowned and flipped through his notes. “You mean that the man spoke in nothing but German during the entire encounter? You have no idea what he said?”  
  
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Malfoy drawled. “ _Correct._ I don’t know what he said. Merlin, but you are an idiot. No wonder they let you be an Auror.”  
  
“I worked to be an Auror just like everybody else!” Harry protested, and Ron dropped his face into his hands.  
  
Clearly enjoying himself, Malfoy said, “Is that _really_ what you believe?”  
  
“Are you almost done questioning him?” said Ron quickly, placing a calming hand on Harry’s shoulder.   
  
Swallowing, Harry took a deep breath and asked, “When the wizard killed Scott, what did you do?”  
  
Malfoy was quiet for a very long time, and Harry was about to question him again when he said, “I dropped to the floor. Wes—he had fallen...I wanted to—to see if he was really dead.” Malfoy licked his lips and let his head fall backwards against his pillow, exposing his long, white neck. Ron felt his stomach lurch.  
  
“The maniac just kept spouting off German, and I kept shouting back, and then he said the Killing Curse.”  
  
“What did you do next?” said Harry.  
  
“I don’t remember,” Malfoy muttered. “I think I tried to duck or something.”  
  
Ron gave Harry a look. “Ask if he threw a potion to block the curse,” he whispered.  
  
“I wouldn’t have been that stupid,” snapped Malfoy, whose angry gaze was settled somewhere around Ron’s left shoulder. “I know better than to throw volatile potions at a volatile curse. I just...tried to get out of the way. I don’t know.”  
  
“Would you be able to recognize your attacker and Scott’s murderer?” Harry asked.  
  
“Maybe,” said Malfoy, rubbing tiredly at his face. “It was dark and I was sort of having a nervous breakdown at the time. I wasn’t paying much attention.”  
  
“Could you describe the wizard?”  
  
Malfoy’s turned his head. “Maybe...He was average height, maybe a little taller. No distinguishing features that I can remember. He was blond, but not _my_ blond; it was _yellow_ blond.”  
  
Harry gave Ron a Look and then shuffled through some of his notes for a few moments while Ron took that time to study Malfoy again. His face was slightly flushed and scrunched up unattractively. Sweat was forming on his brow and his jaw appeared to be clenched.  
  
“Malfoy,” said Ron softly, “are you in any pain?”  
  
“I’m fine,” he hissed. “I need the loo. Where is it?”  
  
“Here, let me help you—”  
  
“I don’t need your help!” Malfoy shouted, flailing his arms when he felt Ron’s presence too close to his body. “I know how to take a fucking piss!”  
  
“I’ve got everything I need here,” Harry said, eyeing Malfoy dubiously. “I’ll let you know if there are any updates or developments. “’Bye, Ron.” He was out the door in a flash, leaving Ron alone in the room with an irritable and very moody Draco Malfoy, who had managed to get off the bed and was now making his way in the opposite direction of the loo.  
  
“I thought you wanted to use the loo,” Ron called to him. Malfoy stopped and cocked his head in Ron’s direction.  
  
“I am,” he said shortly.  
  
Rocking on the balls of his feet, Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Well, you might want to try turning around, because if you keep going the way you are, you’re going to run straight into a brick wall.”  
  
Malfoy scowled and slowly turned around. His eyes were wide and unseeing, his arms held parallel to the ground and feeling at the air. “Which way is it?” he growled, cheeks pink.  
  
And this was where the Healing began. This was what Ron was best at. Healing physical injuries were very simple now in the magical community, but it was the mind that proved to be the hardest challenge. Being able to ask for help, and being able to accept it, was usually the most difficult part of the healing process. Witches and wizards were so used to their independence, so used to having their injuries healed with a flick of a wand, that anything beyond that was oftentimes unheard of. Which was why Ron Weasley was an expert. He knew just the right words to say, in just the right way and at just the right time. He could develop lasting relationships with the meanest of wizards; he could convince the oldest of crones that she needed to take a certain potion. Ron was good at his job, and he knew it. Now it was time to see if all his training would hold up against the most annoying person alive.  
  
Ron licked his lips and then walked over to stand in front of the bathroom door. He was pleased to notice that Malfoy’s head followed the noise. “I’m standing in front of it. See if you can follow the sound of my voice and walk your way over to me.”  
  
Malfoy was very still and Ron could hear his heavy breathing. Finally, he said, “What the hell kind of game are you playing, Weasley?”  
  
Suppressing the strong urge to sigh, Ron counted to ten and then replied, “This isn’t a game, Malfoy. I’m attempting to help you better adapt to your surroundings now that your sight is gone.”  
  
“I thought you said my eyesight would return!” he said shrilly.  
  
“If you cooperate!” Ron returned. “Accepting my help isn’t going to make you weak, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy sneered at him. “I’m not weak! And what if I don’t want the help of a _weasel_?”  
  
“Then you’re fuck out of luck,” Ron ground out, finding it hard to suppress his anger. Malfoy always had a way of pushing his buttons, no matter what measures Ron took to keep his temper under control. “I’m your only way out of this situation, so it’s time to suck it up and listen to me.”  
  
A loud silence followed as Ron and Malfoy stood on opposite sides of the hospital room and sneered at one another.  
  
The next thing Ron knew, Malfoy was striding across the room, and heading straight towards him. And the bed, which happened to be standing between the two men.  
  
Eyes wide, Ron cried out, “Wait, Malfoy—!” But it was too late. Malfoy ran straight into the metal frame of the bed and crumpled to the floor, howling in pain. Ron rushed around the end of the bed and crouched down to Malfoy’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly.  
  
Malfoy’s face was screwed up in pain and he was crutching at his groin. “I’m fine,” he gasped. “Incapable of siring children, but fine.”  
  
Ron guffawed, and then clapped a hand over his mouth.  
  
“I’m glad you think my pain is funny, Weasley!” Malfoy barked in a pained voice, and then let out a low moan. “Aw, bloody hell...”  
  
“Here, let me see,” Ron said, taking pity on the other man, and tried to bat his hands away.  
  
“Hey! What are you doing?” Malfoy squawked, flapping his arms. “Don’t touch me!”  
  
“Do you want me to make it feel better or not?” Ron snapped irritably.  
  
“Not if it involves you touching me!”  
  
“Fine!” Ron stood up and backed away. “Stay there rolling around on the floor. See if I care.”  
  
Grunting and shuffling was all the reply he would get, it seemed, as Malfoy was determined to do as much for himself as possible. After a few more minutes hissing in pain on the floor, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, and then finally stood up with the aid of the bed. He stood slightly hunched, as if his groin was still giving him pain, but looked quite pleased with himself that he did all that on his own.   
  
“Congratulations, Malfoy,” Ron said jovially. “You were able to accomplish what any nine-month-old could do: stand.”  
  
“Piss off,” Malfoy muttered. “Now where the hell is the loo?”  
  
Ron paused for a moment, taking in Malfoy’s determined face and stiff resolution. “You’ll have to feel your way there,” he said at last. “Can you figure out how?”  
  
Malfoy frowned and turned his head away from Ron. “You were on the other side of the bed, and before, you said that you were by the loo. So it stands to reason that the door to the loo is on the other side of the bed.”  
  
Ron nodded. “Correct.”  
  
“This isn’t a test,” snapped Malfoy. “You don’t need to reward me with praise and treats every time I do something right.”  
  
Ignoring his attitude, Ron remained silent and watched as Malfoy tentatively patted the side of the bed, and then began to move. He made it to the end of the bed before stubbing his toe. Hissing and swearing, he followed the bed’s shape until he was on the other side. He let go and thrust his arms out wide, taking small steps towards a plant in the corner. Malfoy ran into the wall with a dull thud and began feeling his way up and down the brick. Finally, after several tense moments in which Malfoy studied a thick groove in the wall, he was able to find the door that led to the loo.  
  
“I found it!” he crowed, and Ron shook his head in disbelief and amusement. Malfoy disappeared into the loo, and except for a loud crashing noise, seemed to have no problem. It wasn’t until Ron was on his third page of notes in his notebook, however, that he realized Malfoy was still in the loo. Concerned, he was about to go knock when the door to the hospital room opened and then slammed shut.  
  
Startled, Ron whirled around, ready to chastise if necessary, only to find a fuming Maureen O’Shaughnessy glaring at him with a truly ugly look on her round, flat face. For a moment, she reminded Ron of Hermione when she was angry, what with the curly brown hair and dark brown eyes, but Hermione was beautiful when she was angry; O’Shaughnessy was most definitely not.  
  
 _Bloody hell, not now,_ Ron thought with a scowl. “What is it, O’Shaughnessy?” he asked in exasperation.  
  
“I told your secretary that I needed to speak with you _hours_ ago!” she shrieked.  
“I’ve been busy with a patient,” Ron shot back. “Last time I checked, they were a tad more important.”  
  
O’Shaughnessy exhaled loudly through her nose, sounding vaguely like a snorting bull. She looked around the room in an exaggerated manner and held up her hands. “Where is he, then?” she asked spitefully. “Where is the little Death Eater?”  
  
“You are out of line,” Ron warned, his anger rising dangerously.  
  
“How can you even stand to be in the same room with him?” she demanded in a piercing tone. “After everything he’s done, after the way his _father_ murdered your sister—”  
  
“GET OUT!” Ron roared, shaking with fury. O’Shaughnessy’s eyes widened in fear and she quickly stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind her. Still shaking, his knees weak, Ron stumbled backwards until he ran into the bed. He sank gratefully onto its surface, the sheer blind rage slowly dissipating as reality sunk in. Ron’s chest constricted at the mere thought of Ginny and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing her memory from his head. Hand clutching at his chest, Ron struggled to get his breathing under control again.  
  
He sat in silence for what felt like ages until a small, hesitant voice spoke up. “Weasley...?”  
  
Ron nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Malfoy’s voice. Leaping off the bed, he spun around and saw Malfoy standing uncertainly in the threshold to the loo with a towel around his waist. His hair was wet and matted, and there were some stray soap bubbles on his shoulders. It looked as if Malfoy had taken a shower while he was in there.  
  
“Yeah?” Ron croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Is everything all right?” he tried again, grateful his voice no longer sounded strained.  
  
Malfoy looked particularly pale, though there were two bright pink spots on his cheeks. It was then Ron realized that he must have heard the shouting match between him and O’Shaughnessy. Feeling flushed and shaky, Ron ran a hand through his hand and slowly blew out a breath. He looked back to Malfoy and felt his stomach lurch again, especially after he _really_ realized that Malfoy was, in fact, wearing only a towel. There was another lurch, but this time, Ron understood that that kind of lurch had nothing to do with how he had been feeling.  
  
It was desire.  
  
“I’ve got to go,” Ron half shouted. Malfoy swallowed and nodded tentatively. “I’ll have the Mediwitches come in and help you get ready for dinner,” he continued to ramble. “And then I’ll be back, but probably not ‘til tomorrow. I’ll see ya, Malfoy!”   
  
Feeling utterly foolish, Ron rushed out of the room and all but ran straight to his office. Once safely inside, Ron collapsed into his chair and buried his head in his hands. The sheer number of emotions coursing through him was overwhelming, and Ron allowed himself to hiccup and cough and squeeze back tears until he felt he was ready to face the Real World again.  
  
Raising his head, Ron took a deep breath and let it out. He was okay. Okay. Yes, he was fine. O’Shaughnessy’s a great giant—well, Ron had many names for Maureen O’Shaughnessy. And Malfoy, well, that wasn’t anything—that was nothing, nothing at all. Ron was still just reeling from his argument with O’Shaughnessy, that’s all. And, come on, he was a gay man. Of course he’d notice when other handsome men were nearly starkers! It was only natural. Right?  
  
“Healer Weasley?”  
  
Ron yelped in surprise and nearly jumped out of his seat. “What is it, Lu?” he gasped.  
  
Lucia raised a heavily painted eyebrow. “Er, this just came for you, sir.” She held out her hand to reveal a blood-red piece of parchment, and Ron’s heart sank into his stomach.  
  
~*~


	2. Part II

Ron roughly ran a hand over his face and he had the sudden urge to growl. “Regardless of Malfoy’s past actions, that _does not_ excuse Healer O’Shaughnessy for not giving him the best treatment available here at St. Mungo’s!” he asserted, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “I worked with him for _years_ during the War; I _know_ he’s a prick, but he’s an all right bloke and he is _not_ a Death Eater,” he finished emphatically.   
  
O’Shaughnessy sneered at him and opened her mouth to respond when Augustus Pye held up his hand and the room fell silent. Ron was currently sitting at a large round table and being questioned about the activities that had occurred over the past three days concerning Draco Malfoy. Specifically, Ron and O’Shaughnessy’s two very open and loud disagreements. Apparently, right after Ron had shouted at her to leave, O’Shaughnessy had headed straight to the St. Mungo’s Board of Healers and Mediwizards to complain. The board was made up of all department heads. Ron himself was on the board, since he was in charge of Physical and Mental Well-Being, as were Richard and Florence, who were in charge of their respective medical divisions also.  
  
“Enough, both of you,” Augustus said, and then threw a look to O’Shaughnessy when she opened her mouth again. Leaning forward, Augustus clasped his hands together in front of him and said, “I know you two have had your differences over the years, but I must admit, I never thought it would get in the way of treating patients here at St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“We pride ourselves on being the best,” Hippocrates Smethwyck interrupted fiercely. “So what does it say to our patients about our Healers when two of them have shouting matches in the middle of our corridors?”  
  
“It wasn’t in a corridor,” said Ron quickly. “It was behind closed doors.”  
  
“It was still in a patient’s personal room,” Augustus replied, “which is unacceptable.”  
Ron ground his teeth and felt his ears grow hot. “She mentioned my sister!” he exploded. “She had the gall to mention my _sister_. It was a cheap shot, Augustus, you know that!”  
  
“That is entirely untrue!” O’Shaughnessy shrieked.  
  
“Don’t lie about it!” Ron barked, and the room broke out in a dull roar.  
  
 _BANG, BANG, BANG!_ “That is enough!” Smethwyck shouted over the noise, banging his gavel a few more times. “Let’s try to act like adults here!”  
  
Ron fell back into his chair, still fuming and feeling a massive headache coming on. O’Shaughnessy sat down as well and refused to look in Ron’s direction  
  
“Have we all stopped with this childishness now?” Smethwyck demanded, and everyone murmured some sort of affirmative. Sighing, Smethwyck sat down wearily in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Healer O’Shaughnessy,” he began, opening his eyes and turning towards her, “you’ve not shown or proven to us that Healer Weasley’s actions were in any way a...what did you call it? Oh yes—an affront to all humans. Your actions, however, are at best severely flawed. You are on a month’s probation, starting today.” O’Shaughnessy’s jaw dropped to the floor. Continuing, Smethwyck said, “You will also have a week’s suspension from work without pay. Please spend that time reevaluating the reasons you became a Healer in the first place. You are dismissed.”  
  
O’Shaughnessy looked devastated, but she rose from her chair and walked quietly from the room with her head held high. Ron sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted, and rose to leave as well.  
  
“Wait just a moment, if you would, please, Ron,” said Augustus. Ron blinked at him for a moment before lowering himself back into the chair and waiting dutifully as a few others filed out, which left him alone with Augustus, Smethwyck, Richard, and Florence. When the room was cleared, Augustus said, “We’re releasing Draco Malfoy tomorrow from our care.”  
  
“What?” Ron exclaimed, standing up again.  
  
“He’s fully healed,” said Smethwyck, sounding annoyed; he’d never been a particularly patient man, and he and Ron had knocked heads in the past. “And we’ve been getting some very bad publicity since he’s been here.”  
  
Ron gaped at them. “You’re releasing him because he’s causing some bad PR?” he spluttered. “He’s _not_ fully healed, either! His eyes—”  
  
“As I understand it from the medical records,” Smethwyck interrupted, “Mr. Malfoy’s eyes will improve if he remembers to apply the restorative eyes drops and drink his potion every day.”  
  
“He doesn’t have a home,” Ron stressed desperately. “He was Scott’s apprentice, so he was living with him and his family. I doubt they’re going to take him back now after all that happened! He’s got no where to go, and I doubt he can even afford those drops and potions anyway.”  
  
“Regardless,” said Smethwyck, “his body is healed, and every day he stays here is money wasted and more problems for us. I’m sure he has some friends he can stay with until his eyes are working again.”  
  
Ron continued to stare at them incredulously. Florence looked apologetic, as did Augustus, but Richard refused to meet his eyes. Ron had a good idea why. “He changed sides during the war,” he said finally. “His friends are either in Azkaban, dead, or refuse to speak to him.” Licking his dry lips, Ron’s mind worked quickly to find a solution to the problem. Then it came to him.  
  
“All right. Fine. Whatever,” he said. Rubbing his hands together, Ron continued, “Since we’re all here, I’d like to make an announcement: As of tomorrow, I will be going on a two month holiday.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Richard exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”  
  
“Oh, I can,” said Ron coolly. “I haven’t had a holiday in four years; I know I have some paid time saved up.”  
  
“Two months is a bit much, don’t you think, Healer Weasley?” Smethwyck grunted.  
  
Ron grinned. “No,” he said. “That’s the perfect amount of time for Malfoy to get better.” Without another word, Ron turned his back on the Board and strode out of the room. He was halfway to his office when Richard caught up with him.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, grasping Ron’s arm and tugging him to a stop. Ron winced at the look on Richard’s face; it held a mixture of anger and betrayal.  
  
Ron sighed and gently pried his arm free from Richard’s grasp. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking into Richard’s green eyes. “But I’m his only chance.” He began walking again, and Richard quickly followed.  
  
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he said once they were inside Ron’s office. “Maureen was right; his father—”  
  
“ _Don’t,_ ” Ron growled, and Richard frowned.  
  
“I just...” He looked down and fidgeted. “You know how I am...how I feel about Death Eaters, Ron, and now you’re...you’re letting one _live_ with you, for God’s sake. I don’t understand that at all. And you and I...” Richard’s voice was thick with emotion and Ron felt his heart ache.  
  
He transfigured a sturdy box out of a stapler and began cleaning off his desk and packing away some of his things. “He’s not a Death Eater,” Ron said at last, ignoring the other issues.  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
Rom slammed down a pet rock Harry had given him for Christmas a few years ago. “I worked with him during the war,” he snapped. “We lived together for years, however unpleasant an experience that was. I saw his forearms more times than I can count. He didn’t have the Dark Mark and he was _not_ a Death Eater.”   
  
Ron walked around his desk and took hold of Richard’s hands. “I know you hate them. I _know_ , okay? But you’ve got to trust me on this. He’ll be out in two months.”  
  
“I can’t come over if he’s there,” Richard said, raising his head. Ron nodded in understanding and then went back to packing up his office. He had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in at all.  
  
~*~

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Harry exclaimed, flapping his arms. Ron looked up at him in surprise and dropped the sheet he’d been holding. He had been trying to make said sheet fit onto a bed that was possibly too big for it.  
  
“What?”  
  
Harry stared at him with a somewhat comical look on his face. “Ron,” he gasped. “You’re telling me that you _want_ Malfoy to come live with you?”  
  
Ron sighed and gave up on the sheets for a moment. Straightening, Ron put his hands on his hips and said, “So? Harry, you saw him. He’s a mess and he needs help. Besides, I’m the best person for this job; you know that.”  
  
Harry shook his head like a dog. “I don’t get it. You and Malfoy hate each other.”  
  
“We do not,” Ron protested indignantly. “We got along a hell of a lot better than you and he ever did.”  
  
Waving that away with his hand, Harry limped around the bed to stand closer to Ron. “But it’s still Malfoy,” he stressed.  
  
Ron grunted in response, and then turned around and headed for the wardrobe in search of sheets that would fit. “I don’t hate him,” he said at last. “Harry, I’m a Healer, I can’t _not_ help him.”  
  
Harry sighed and crossed his arms. “I guess I just don’t understand why _Malfoy_ of all people. I mean…bloody hell, Ron, you and Richard broke up because you didn’t want to live together. You thought it was moving too fast, and now you’re letting _Malfoy_ come live with you? Merlin, Ron, does Richard know about all this?”  
  
“Why do you care?” Ron bit out. “You never liked Richard anyway.”  
  
“That’s because he’s boring as all fuck,” Harry snapped back. “But still, that must have been quite a blow to his ego, Ron. And you know how I am about egos.”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ron barked, throwing down some floral sheets he’d dug up from deep within the wardrobe. “Richard’s a Healer; he understands.”  
  
Harry found that highly unlikely; he also knew Richard and his family’s history with Death Eaters, having seen it come up in a few Auror reports over the years. It had been a brutal murder. Removing his glasses, Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes and asked, “What’s this all really about, Ron?”  
  
Ron tore the smaller sheets off the bed and began replacing them with the hideous floral ones. “I just want to do what’s right,” he muttered, forcefully shoving a pillow into a pink pillowcase.  
  
Harry watched Ron closely as he continued making the bed. He’d been nothing short of surprised when Ron had Flooed him early that evening to tell Harry his brilliant idea. He’d never seen Ron look so satisfied and happy about something so life altering before. And he was confused, too, because Ron _had_ balked at the idea of living with Richard all those months ago. Said it was “too fast”, that he “wasn’t ready.” Harry snorted; “too fast” his arse. Ron and Richard had been dating on and off for nearly two years.  
  
After the break-up, when Harry had taken his friend out for some Firewhisky, Ron had drunkenly confessed to him that he just didn’t care about Richard that way anymore. Ron hadn’t remembered saying it the morning after, and Harry had never told him.  
  
“There,” Ron declared, placing a poofy-looking pillow in the center of the other seven or eight pillows sitting propped against the headboard. Turning to Harry, he grinned and said, “What do you think? Think he’ll like it?”  
  
Taking in the pink floral patterns, pink pillowcases, and pink ruffles, Harry made a face and said, “Well…at least they’re not Gryffindor colors. Who the _hell_ gave you those sheets, Ron?”  
  
Ron bit his lip and frowned. “Mum, I think,” he said. “Way back when I first got the flat and everyone thought I was still straight. I dunno. I think they work.” He smiled at Harry, who shook his head and grinned.  
  
After watching Ron fluff a pillow one last time, Harry followed his friend into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Ron pulled a couple of butterbeers from his fridge, sat down, and slid one over to Harry.  
  
“I know you think I’ve lost my mind,” Ron said quietly after they’d sat in an amiable silence for several minutes drinking their butterbeers. Harry looked up and nodded, encouraging Ron to continue. “It’s just…” Ron set his bottle down on the table and leaned back in his chair, frowning a little. “I can’t explain it, but I just know this is something I have to do. I know you don’t approve, but…will you at least support me?” He looked up at Harry, pleading.  
  
“Of course, Ron,” he said immediately, and meant it. He might not understand why Ron was going through so much trouble for a man who, years ago, had made their lives a living hell, but Harry loved and trusted Ron. If Ron said this was something he had to do, well, then Harry would stand by him, no matter what.  
  
~*~

The moment Ron showed his face at St. Mungo’s, Lucia was on him like a hawk. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she demanded, hands on very wide hips.   
  
“Did I eat all the scones again in the staff room?” he asked innocently. Flipping through some parchment, he said, “Did I get any new post today?”  
  
“I’ve been reassigned to Smethwyck!” she hissed. “And no, you’ve no new post, though your mother has been checking in here every half hour since seven this morning.”  
  
Ron groaned and gave up on the parchments. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Harry must’ve told her, the traitor.” Looking up, he saw Lucia glaring at him and grimaced. “What?”  
  
“Smethwyck!” she repeated, looking aghast. “He’s the most stubborn, hotheaded person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet! The mere idea of working with him is giving me a headache.”  
  
“Lucia, _I’m_ stubborn and hotheaded,” Ron said bluntly. “What exactly is the difference? And besides, it’ll only be for a few months.”  
  
“Yes, well, I happen to like you,” she replied, and Ron grinned. Lucia sighed and threw up her hands in defeat. “Here,” she said, shoving some paper into his hands, “these are the messages your mum sent. She’s…a very strong woman, isn’t she?”  
  
“You have no idea,” he murmured, eyeing the parchment. “Did she seem angry?”  
  
Lucia gave him a look that Ron knew all too well. _Bloody hell._  
  
“Listen,” he said at last, “I don’t really have time right now to talk to my mum. I need to get to Draco before the hospital kicks him out. Tell her I’ll Floo her later tonight.”  
  
Grunting, Lucia shook her head and walked out of Ron’s office. Smiling, Ron then sat in his chair and filled out the paperwork needed before his official holiday could begin. He rubbed at his eyes after the sixteenth page—he had no idea why they needed to know what his grandmothers’ maiden names were—and yawned widely. He’d been up very late last night cleaning his flat and making it as safe as possible for someone who couldn’t see. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head, sounding remarkably like Hermione, that kept reminding Ron that Malfoy might not _want_ to move in with him.  
  
Finally, after answering question 172 about the size of his socks, Ron signed the documents with a flourish and banished them to the appropriate department. Standing up and stretching, Ron took in his office one last time whilst gathering his courage. He could do this. So what if Malfoy said no? At least Ron had tried to help. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then said good-bye to his office and walked out. Lucia cried and hugged him for several minutes, Ron patting her awkwardly on the back the whole time, and after saying more good-byes to some colleagues, he made his way to Malfoy’s room.  
  
When he got here, however, he noticed that the door was ajar. Immediately concerned (and not a little suspicious), Ron barged into the room, only to find Malfoy sitting on his bed with a small suitcase beside him. Malfoy raised his head and cocked it to the side. “Weasley?”  
  
“Er…” Ron said. “Yeah, it’s me. What…?”  
  
“Florence told me,” was all he said. Licking his lips, Malfoy looked down and Ron noticed that he was wringing his hands. He had larger hands than Ron remembered.  
  
“What did she, um, tell you?” Ron wanted to kick himself when his voice broke on the last word.  
  
Malfoy scratched at the back of his neck. “That St. Mungo’s was releasing me, and that someone was coming to pick me up and take care of me. Like I need taking care of,” he added with a scoff.  
  
“Did she say who?” Ron asked softly.  
  
“Only that he was a good friend.”  
  
Exhaling, Ron shuffled his feet for a moment and nervously ran a hand through his hair. “Florence may have been exaggerating a bit, I think—”  
  
“Weasley, I’m not stupid,” Malfoy interrupted. Hopping down off the bed, he stretched and then groped for his suitcase. “Where are we going?”  
  
“My flat,” croaked Ron. “You’ll be living with me for the next few months…if—if that’s all right, of course.”  
  
“I’m not one for charity,” Malfoy declared, looking determined. “But I’m also a Slytherin. I can recognize when I need…help.” He said the last word with a sneer. “Anyway, I’ll be paying you back as soon as I can, so let’s just go, okay? We don’t need to have tearful confessions or any of that shite. I just want a hot shower and a bed to call my own.”  
  
Ron blinked several times. “Okay,” he said at last. Stepping forward, Ron reached into his robes pocket and pulled out a package. “I, ah, got something for you.” He unwrapped the brown paper and pulled out a thin, white stick that was folded in four places. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”   
  
Malfoy frowned a little, but raised his right hand. “What is it?”  
  
“It’s something you’re going to use for a while now, especially when you’re in public,” Ron explained, and placed the object in Malfoy’s hand. “It’s a walking cane for the blind.”  
  
Malfoy’s fingers closed in over the cane and squeezed his hand. “Why’s it in four sections?”  
  
“That’s so that you can keep it in your pocket,” said Ron, stepping forward and touching the cane as well. Malfoy jerked once but otherwise remained silent. Ron took Malfoy’s suitcase and placed it on the ground before taking his other hand and showing him the grooves of the cane. “This is where it bends. All you have to do is flick your wrist and it’ll straighten out. Then when you’re done using it, it folds back up.”  
  
Backing away from Ron, Malfoy then shot out his hand, and the cane did indeed straighten. “Why’s it so long?” he asked, running his hand up and down the shaft. Ron swallowed thickly.  
  
“Um, so that you can hold it far out in front of you and better feel and sense where you’re going.” Ron stepped closer to Malfoy, who was still feeling the cane with his hands. Licking his lips, which had gone dry all of a sudden, he continued, “The cane has a black strap and loop at the top to help you keep a firm grip, and here at the end, there’s a nylon tip so that it can slide easily on the ground. Near the bottom of the cane is a section of red that identifies it as belonging to the visually impaired, and the white portion of it is painted with a reflective white paint, so that people can see you at night.”  
  
Ron scratched at the back of his hot neck, worried about Malfoy’s deepening frown. “I thought it would help you to maintain your independence,” he blurted. “I didn’t think you’d want to hold onto my arm everywhere we went.”  
  
Malfoy looked up, blinking several times, and then returned his attention to the cane.  
  
“It’ll take a while to get used to,” Ron went on, apparently not knowing when to shut up. “But you’re a smart bloke and we can practice in this park that’s right down the street from my flat. It’s really nice there, with a small pond and trees and benches and sticks and—”  
  
“Weasley,” Malfoy said, looking amused. “Thank you.”  
  
Ron opened his mouth and then promptly shut it. He just _knew_ he was blushing madly.   
  
“You’re welcome,” he said at last. “Er, you ready? I figured we could walk to my flat, since it’s not very far from here, and I thought you’d like to practice with the cane.”  
  
Malfoy nodded and silently picked up his suitcase again. He breathed in and out for several minutes, and then with a determined look on his face, said, “Let’s go.”  
  
~*~

“Um, this is it,” Ron said unnecessarily as he led Malfoy into his flat. “Here, lemme have your cloak…”   
  
Malfoy took a few tentative steps away from Ron, folding up his cane and slipping it into the pocket of his robes. “It’s warm,” he said, rubbing his hands together.  
  
“Here,” Ron said, stepping up to Malfoy and taking him by the elbow. “Let me show you around so that you can get used to the place.” He gently led Malfoy into the living room, which was closest to the front hall. “Living room,” he announced. “Here’s the sofa; it’s blue tartan and hideous. It’s also the most comfortable sofa in the world. You’ll love it.” He watched Malfoy carefully as he felt along the sofa’s back.  
  
“Over here is the fireplace,” Ron continued, and Malfoy carefully made his way over to him. “I usually just keep it going with magic. Above it is the mantle, so make sure to watch your head. I know I’ve nearly knocked mine off a few times in the past. Also, only certain people have access to enter the flat via the Floo—Hermione, Harry, my family—but you can still Floo out.”  
  
Ron took Malfoy’s elbow again, still surprised that he was allowing it, and led him to the center of the room. “To your right is the coffee table,” he explained. “I contemplated removing it while you were here, like I did with the side tables, but in the end I kept it. If it’s going to be a problem, though, I can get rid of it—”  
  
“It’s fine,” said Malfoy. “Do you have a telly?”  
  
“You know what a television is?” Ron asked in surprise.  
  
Malfoy’s lip curled. “Of course I do,” he said with no small amount of condescension. “The Scotts owned one, for their kids. They let me watch it. So do you have one?”  
  
“Um, no,” said Ron apologetically. “I usually work really late, and by the time I get home, I just eat dinner and fall into bed.”  
  
“Sounds thrilling,” Malfoy drawled. Ron scowled.  
  
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he muttered, and then led him out of the living room and into the adjoining room. “This is the kitchen and dining area. I have a refrigerator, which I love, so do not break it. There’s the table to the right; it only has two chairs and it’s pretty fucking small, too. Dinner usually consists of whatever I pick up on the way home from work, though now I suppose I’ll have to cook. The kitchen’s pretty small, so don’t bend over too much ‘cause odds are your arse will knock something over.”   
  
Ron tugged on Malfoy’s arm, leading him out of the kitchen. “This is the hall; it’s the only one, really. If you walk straight down it, you’ll run into the loo. There’s one sink, a medicine cabinet above it, a linen cupboard, and a tub that’s also a shower. Pretty basic.” Ron came to a stop, and so did Malfoy. Taking his hand, Ron pulled Malfoy closer to the door leading to one of the bedrooms.   
  
“If you’re in the hall facing the loo door, my bedroom is to the right,” he said, and led Malfoy into his bedroom. “If you ever need me, please come and ask. Directly across the hall is the extra room, which’ll be yours for the next few months.” He backed Malfoy out of the room and into the other one. “It’s yours, so feel free to arrange it to be as comfortable as you want. The sheets are unbelievably ugly, but they’re really soft and, well…” Ron cleared his throat and felt himself blushing. “There’s only one wardrobe. I hope that’s all right. There’s also a desk against the far wall. Once you leave the room, the loo’s to the left and everything else is to the right.”  
  
Ron finally forced himself to shut his mouth and he watched nervously as Malfoy stepped more fully into the room and began running his hands over everything. Ron had never noticed how long and thin Malfoy’s fingers were before. And how his wrist bones looked very delicate. And that Malfoy’s arse looked so tight and squeezable…  
  
Ron buried his face in his hands. “I’ll leave you be,” he announced rather loudly. Malfoy cocked his head and smirked, the little bastard. “I’ll come get you when lunch is ready.” Without another humiliating word, Ron quickly exited the room and headed right into his own. Throwing his body onto the bed, Ron laid there for what felt like hours, just staring up at the ceiling and trying desperately to ignore images of Malfoy that kept inundating his mind and the resulting erection. He was so fucked.  
  
~*~

A light knocking on his door woke Ron a few hours later. He glanced quickly at his alarm clock and then sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Come in,” he said. The door creaked open slowly and Malfoy stepped partly into the room.  
  
“I wasn’t sure what we were doing for lunch,” he said.  
  
Ron hauled himself off the bed and yawned. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  
  
“No, I ended up resting a bit as well.”  
  
Nodding, Ron allowed Malfoy to lead them into the kitchen. “You have a good memory,” he commented. “That’ll help in the coming months.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and then opened his refrigerator door. “Do sandwiches sound all right?”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“Okay then.”  
  
Extracting the ham, lettuce, and mayonnaise from the fridge, Ron straightened up and set the items on the kitchen counter. He got the bread out of the breadbox and set about making the sandwiches. “I hope you like ham,” Ron said, trying to make conversation. “I also have some crisps in the cupboard, if you want some. It’s the third cabinet handle to your left.”  
  
Malfoy stared blankly at Ron for a moment before he stood and slowly made his way over to the cupboards. Using his hands, it only took him a few tries but he eventually found the right door handle. “You have three bags,” he said, looking annoyed. “Which ones do you want?”  
  
“All three are the same,” Ron answered, spreading just the right amount of mayo on the bread.  
  
Grunting in return, Malfoy pulled down a bag of crisps and walked back towards the table, looking triumphant.  
  
“After lunch, I’ll give you the restorative draught to drink and put the drops in your eyes, and then we can get started on therapy.”  
  
Malfoy dropped the bag and stopped dead in his tracks. “What?” he said, sounding irritated.  
  
Ron looked up in surprise. “What?”  
  
“ _Therapy?_ ” sneered Malfoy. “If you think for one minute that I’m letting someone like you anywhere near me, well, you’ve got another thing coming.”  
  
“No, _you’ve_ got another thing coming,” Ron snapped, setting down his knife and turning around to face Malfoy. “One of the reasons you’re here is so that I can better help you recover, and in a more efficient manner. I’m a Healer, Malfoy, that’s what I do.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were going to do anything to me!” he shouted.  
  
Ron shook his head. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, feeling utterly confused. “I’m just giving you potions and eye drops, I didn’t think you’d freak out about it—”  
  
“I’m not freaking out,” he responded petulantly. “And it’s the _therapy_. What the hell is that?”  
  
“You’re worried about that?” Ron said, blinking. “It’s…it’s nothing, Malfoy. Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.”  
  
“I don’t care if it’s your bloody job,” Malfoy hissed. “It was bad enough coming here and accepting _your_ help in the first place, but to let you do all kinds of weird things to me? No, no way in hell.”  
  
“You’re here as my patient, Malfoy,” Ron growled, and stalked forward to stand in front of the other man. “If you refuse treatment, then you’re on your own.”  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He stumbled backwards suddenly, clutching at his head, and Ron lurched forward and grabbed Malfoy’s arm. Pulling him upright, Ron steered him into the living room and onto the sofa. Ron kneeled in front of him and lit his wand.  
  
“Open your eyes,” he murmured, and when Malfoy complied, he raised the wand and shown the light into his grey eyes. He then took Malfoy’s pulse and temperature, and listened to his heart.  
  
“Looks like it was just a dizzy spell,” Ron said after a few minutes. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
Malfoy didn’t say anything, and Ron ducked his head before standing up. “I’ll go finish the sandwiches and bring them out here, okay? I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and finished lunch in record time. After grabbing a couple of butterbeers from the fridge, he walked back into the living room, set the food and drinks down on the table, and then plopped down onto the sofa.  
  
“Ham, lettuce, and mayo,” he announced proudly. “Weasley special, with a side of crisps and butterbeer. Might not be something my Mum would make, but it’s about the only thing _I_ can make, so eat up.”  
  
They ate in silence for quite a while, and Ron didn’t even attempt a conversation; he could tell Malfoy was still affected by the dizzy spell he’d had earlier. At least he was eating the sandwiches without complaint, Ron thought. After they had finished, Ron went into the kitchen to fetch the potion and drops and then rejoined Malfoy on the sofa.  
  
“Here’s the draught,” he said, carefully handing Malfoy the tall glass and watching as he drank it all down.   
  
Malfoy set the glass down on the table, where it balanced precariously on the edge, and then said, “Where are you getting the potion from?”  
  
Ron started slightly. “Er, the apothecary on Diagon. Why?”  
  
“That can’t be cheap.”  
  
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Ron answered, “Don’t worry about it. I can afford it.”  
  
“I could make it for you for free,” Malfoy announced. Ron’s eyebrows shot into his hair; that wasn’t the response he was expecting.  
  
“Well, I appreciate the gesture, Malfoy,” he said slowly. “I really do, but you’re…”  
  
“Blind,” Malfoy finished snappishly. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I’d still like to try.”  
  
Ron nodded, and said, “I understand that, but first you need to get used to doing every day activities first, and get used to your own body, before you can start doing more complicated tasks. That includes using a wand.”  
  
“The blind aren’t allowed wands,” Malfoy said with no small amount of bitterness. His own wand had been destroyed in the explosion.  
  
“But you’re not going to be blind for forever,” Ron reasoned, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Not if you keep up with the drops and potions and therapy.”  
  
Malfoy curled his lip and Ron’s eyes snapped down. “Right,” Malfoy said after a moment, and then leaned his head back, exposing his throat. Ron inhaled softly and his trousers tightened uncomfortably. It took him a few moments to realize that Malfoy was leaning back in order to get his eye drops. Ron hastened to retrieve the small bottle from the table and he stood to circle the back of the couch.  
  
“All right,” he said. “Three drops in each eye. You okay with that?”  
  
“Just do it, Weasley.”  
  
“Okay, then.” Ron filled the dropper with clear liquid and said, “Okay, on three. One, two, three…” _Drip, drip, drip._ Malfoy blinked rapidly and then nodded at Ron, who administered the next three drops in the other eye.  
  
“Now sit back for a few more minutes and let the medicine do its job,” said Ron. “I’m gonna clean up the kitchen and then we can get started on therapy.”  
  
“I’m overjoyed,” Malfoy muttered. Ron ignored him and walked out of the room. When he returned, Malfoy’s eyes were closed and a soft snoring sound could be heard coming from his pointy nose. Ron grinned a little and shook his head. He sat back down on the couch and conjured up a few items he would need for their first session.  
  
“What are you doing?” asked Malfoy, causing Ron to jump slightly.   
  
Recovering, he said, “Getting ready for the session. Now that you have limited to no sight you will see that your other senses will begin to strengthen and become more acute in order to allow you to function. You’ve already shown signs of this in the past few days—your sense of smell and hearing are far more attuned than before, yeah? Well, today we’re going to work on the sense you’ll be using the most: touch.”  
  
Ron leaned forward and let his hands hover right above Malfoy’s. “Most people can tell when others have invaded their personal space. But you can practically feel it, can’t you?” Malfoy nodded, breathing heavily. Ron then let his hands touch Malfoy’s. “Everything is so much more intense, now, isn’t it? Touch my hands and tell me what you feel.”  
  
Malfoy hesitated for a moment before he raised his and Ron’s hands and began running his fingers over Ron’s skin. “Do you still play Quidditch?” he asked after a moment.  
  
Ron swallowed thickly and shifted in his seat. “Er, yeah, sometimes with Harry and my brothers. Why?”  
  
Malfoy turned one Ron’s right hand palm up and ran his fingers over the palm. “Because you have calluses, ones I used to get after riding a broom.” He then began stroking Ron’s fingers with his own, causing a shudder to course down Ron’s spine. Malfoy stopped to concentrate on Ron’s right ring finger, rubbing over the nail and cuticle. “You have a callus here too, from writing.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ron croaked. Malfoy smirked a little and continued to massage Ron’s hands.  
  
After a few more minutes, he said, “You’re hands are quite large.” He then grinned nastily. “And you know what they say about big hands.”  
  
“Okay!” Ron blurted, and tore his hands away from Malfoy. “Excellent job, you’re doing great. Now, I think it’s time to work on identifying different fabrics and textures—”  
  
“Can I feel your face?” asked Malfoy. Ron froze and closed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure why Malfoy was insisting on torturing him.  
  
Ron rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “That’s probably a bit advanced for you right now. Let’s just stick to these little balls over here…”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Malfoy said softly, his eyes wide and bright. “I already know what you look like. It’ll be good practice.”  
  
Resisting the sudden urge to throw himself into the fire and Floo away forever, Ron nodded instead and garbled, “Sure.”  
  
Lips quirked, Malfoy raised his hands and blindly reached forward until he touched Ron’s neck. His fingers then lightly began skimming Ron’s skin, slowly moving up, and then tracing the outline of his jaw. Ron exhaled loudly through his nose as Malfoy’s fingertips lined his lips, which were dry and chapped. He resisted the urge to lick them.  
  
Malfoy frowned suddenly when he was lightly caressing Ron’s stubbly cheek. “I don’t remember this scar,” he said.  
  
Something about that statement tickled the back of Ron’s mind, but he didn’t concentrate too hard on it because Malfoy was still _touching_ him. “Er, what?”  
  
Smiling, Malfoy said, “This scar, here.” He traced his finger from Ron’s right ear down to the middle of his right cheek. “What happened?”  
  
Ron wanted to answer the question, he really did, but the combination of Malfoy’s smile and his bloody smooth hands was driving him to the brink of madness. Heart pounding in his chest, Ron shook his head roughly, causing Malfoy to drop his hands.  
  
“I got it a few years ago,” Ron choked out. “I was drunk and got into a fistfight with someone at the Leaky Cauldron.”  
  
Malfoy smirked. “Still hotheaded, Weasley? I thought you’d have grown out of that by now.”   
  
“He was a reporter,” Ron grunted, and backed away from Malfoy. “He was asking me questions about—about Ginny. It was her birthday and the son-of-a-bitch was _asking_ all these fucking questions about her and I lost it. The scar’s from when he swiped at me with broken glass.”  
  
Malfoy was very quiet and looked paler than usual. Ron rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling bone-tired, and then reached towards the different balls sitting on the table. “Here,” he said, “try telling me what these fuzzy balls feel like.”  
  
There was a long pause before Malfoy snorted. The awkwardness now gone, Ron grinned and began explaining about the various textured balls.  
  
~*~

Ron was in the kitchen making sandwiches again (ham and mustard on rye) when a large barn owl swooped through the open window and settled itself on Malfoy’s shoulder. He’d been sitting at the table groping those bloody balls for a few hours, and subsequently, Ron had gone through the rest of the day with a half-erection tenting his robes.  
  
“Weasley,” Malfoy deadpanned, “there’s a bird sitting on me.”  
  
Sniggering, Ron removed the letter that was attached to the bird’s leg, and before he could even read it, the owl had flown off again. He sat down in the chair across from Malfoy and ripped open the parchment, his eyes scanning the letter.  
  
“It’s from my mum,” he said, his stomach dropping into his stomach. “Bloody hell, I forgot to Floo her. She’s asking me to come over for dinner tonight.”  
  
“Just tell her you’re busy,” Malfoy said, munching on another crisp. It seemed as if he really liked them.  
  
Ron snorted. “You _do_ remember my mother, don’t you?”  
  
“Good point.” Malfoy stood and stretched, exposing a bit of his pale tummy and a hint of a scar. Ron’s entire body throbbed at once. “We might as well go, then,” he said. “But your brothers won’t be there, will they?” He looked anxious at the thought of Fred and George being there. Ron knew Malfoy could handle the others all right, but the twins were always able to get under Malfoy’s skin.  
  
“No, Mum says it’ll just be her and Dad and me...and my friend. Shite, how’d she find out already?”  
  
“Probably Potter,” said Malfoy, smirking.   
  
Ron grunted in agreement. “I s’pose we could save the ham and mustard sandwiches for tomorrow,” he mused, scratching chin.  
  
“I can’t wait,” said Malfoy sarcastically. He went very still suddenly and then asked, “Are you sure your parents won’t mind my being there?”  
  
“Not at all,” Ron said absently as he packed away the ham and other ingredients. “You always sucked up to them during the War and Mum loved you.” He chuckled and turned around, only to freeze upon the look on Malfoy’s face. “What? What is it?”  
  
Malfoy audibly swallowed. “Nothing,” he said at last. “Let’s just go.”  
  
Ron got their cloaks and helped Malfoy slip his on. “Do you have your cane?”  
  
“Yes, Mum.”  
  
Scowling and blushing, Ron said, “You’ll need to hold onto me when we Floo.” He slipped his long arms around Malfoy’s slender waist and stepped into the fire. “The Burrow!” he shouted, and threw down the Floo powder. A moment later they were spinning away from Ron’s flat and towards his parents’ house.  
  
They landed with a thud and spilled out of the fireplace. Molly Weasley was practically on top of them a second later. “Arthur! The boys are here! Here, let me help you up, dear.”  
  
Ron held out his hand, but apparently the endearment was in fact referring to Malfoy, and not her own son. Grumbling, Ron pushed himself off the floor and began dusting off his clothes. He watched as his mother gushed over Malfoy and then shooed him into the kitchen, leaving Ron alone with his dad, who had just appeared.  
  
“Hello, son,” said his dad, pulling Ron into a hug.  
  
“Hey, Dad,” he mumbled into his father’s blue Weasley jumper. The two men soon joined Malfoy and Ron’s mum in the kitchen, where Malfoy was already being bogged down with food.  
  
“Have you fed him at all, Ronald?” Mrs. Weasley demanded. “Draco, you’re much too thin. You really should eat more.”  
  
“He’s fine, Molly,” Mr. Weasley said fondly. Turning to Malfoy, he said, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Draco. I read about what happened in the papers.”  
  
“Thank you,” said Malfoy through stiff lips, looking very uncomfortable.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Weasley asked him. “We heard from Harry about what happened at the Ministry. We’re so sorry, but Harry said Ron was taking good care of you. He’s made us so proud, our little Ronnie.”  
  
“Mum,” Ron groaned, feeling his ears grow hot. Malfoy snickered and shoved some mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ron had never seen Malfoy look so undignified when eating before; maybe he _wasn’t_ feeding him well.  
  
“Oh, fine,” she said, smiling warmly. “But Draco, really, how are you? We haven’t heard from you since the war ended. You don’t _Floo_ , you don’t _owl_...”  
  
Malfoy’s cheeks turned bright pink and he took a deep gulp of pumpkin juice. “I’m fine,” he said after swallowing. “It’s a lot to get used to, but I think I’m coping well.”  
  
“I think you’re going to be just fine,” cooed Mrs. Weasley, who then promptly put several helpings of roast on Malfoy’s plate. “Now eat up,” she said sternly. “I know Ron isn’t much of a cook, being the bachelor that he is. I’m sure Richard did all the cooking when they were together.”  
  
Malfoy choked on his potatoes, sputtering and coughing. Mr. Weasley pounded him on the back several times before Malfoy waved him away. “I’m okay,” he gasped, taking sips of his juice. Molly exchanged a few knowing looks with her husband, who in fact didn’t seem to know anything at all.   
  
The rest of the evening passed by rather uneventfully, with Molly chattering on about one thing or another, Arthur excitedly explaining the several new Muggle devices he’d, ah, borrowed from the Ministry, and Ron mostly just dying from embarrassment.  
  
Near eleven o’clock, Ron yawned loudly and suggested that he and Malfoy make their way back to the flat. Laden down with at least two week’s worth of food, they Flooed out of the Burrow and back to London. Malfoy had insisted on doing it alone, and when Ron arrived after him at the flat, he appeared to still be in one piece, so Ron didn’t say anything about it.   
  
After putting the leftovers in the fridge, Ron ambled back into the living room and stretched out on the couch, propping his feet on the table next to Malfoy’s. “Sorry ‘bout my mum,” he said. “But you know how she can be. Anyway, she seemed really happy to see you. I have no idea why, but there you go.” Ron grinned and then toed off his shoes, wriggling his toes when they were finally free.  
  
“Ugh,” said Malfoy, wrinkling his nose. “Get those away from me.” He nudged at Ron’s feet, trying to push them off the table. Laughing, Ron pushed back until they were engaged in feet-to-feet combat. Ron emerged victorious when he was able to knock Malfoy’s feet right off the table.  
“Aha!” he crowed, grinning widely. He watched as Malfoy laughed a little and put his feet right back on the table.  
  
“So Weasley,” said Malfoy after a beat, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, “I suppose my question as to why you and Granger never married was answered tonight.”  
  
Ron stiffened, the hairs on his body standing on end, and he turned his head to stare at Malfoy. “What?” he said softly. Malfoy’s lips curled upward and he got a very ugly look on his face.  
  
“I must admit,” he murmured, “I didn’t believe the papers when they outted you a few years back. Honestly, Weasley, getting caught fucking another man in a broom cupboard? That’s taking the whole closet metaphor a little too far, don’t you think?”  
  
“Shut up,” Ron snarled, flushing bright red. “It’s none of your business. If you have a problem living with a poofter, then you’re free to find some place else to live!” He stood up with a flourish and began to storm out of the room when Malfoy’s voice stopped him.  
  
“Trust me, I don’t mind,” he replied, turning his head in Ron’s direction. There was something about his voice that sent Ron’s head spinning. Malfoy lowered his arms and twisted his body on the sofa so that he was facing Ron. “In fact,” he continued, “I find it quite surprising. I didn’t believe the papers because the last time I’d seen you, you were completely enamored with Granger and screwing her every chance you could.”  
  
“Don’t talk about Hermione that way,” Ron warned, feeling his face heat up alarmingly. “I loved Hermione; I still do. But I couldn’t love her the way she deserved. She was the one who helped me figure out what I really wanted.” He paused, lost in thought for a few seconds. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he muttered, poised to leave again.  
  
“So if Granger wasn’t your type,” Malfoy interrupted, sounding far too knowing for Ron’s liking, “then who was?” His grin suddenly grew evil. “Was it Potter? Did he... _do it_ for you?”  
  
Ron’s entire body felt like it was on fire. “I mean it, Malfoy!” he barked. “It’s none of your business.”  
  
“So did you confess your undying love to Potter?” Malfoy taunted viciously. “Did he turn you down? Is he as heterosexual as he claims to be? Did he break your heart?”  
  
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Ron shouted. His throat was tight and his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. Malfoy’s questions were hitting too close to home and Ron didn’t like reliving that particular time of his miserable life.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes were gleaming and for one cruel moment, Ron was grateful that Malfoy couldn’t see how angry and flushed he was. “Potter’s nothing special, you know,” he whispered finally. “Even when he was stalking me in sixth year, I knew that he wasn’t our type.”  
  
“O-Our type?” Ron stuttered, feeling foolish. Malfoy’s grin grew wider, exposing his straight white teeth.  
  
“He may have been aesthetically pleasing, I suppose, for someone who’s never seen a comb in his life,” he drawled, “but he wasn’t exactly someone I’d had my eye on at the time.”  
  
“Who did you, then?” Ron asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth.   
  
The look on Malfoy’s face suddenly grew very serious and he seemed to shrink. “No one,” he hissed. “Absolutely no one.” Without another word, he stood up from the sofa and made his way slowly out of the room. Ron continued to shake long after Malfoy had gone.  
  
~*~

Three weeks passed in relative peace. They did not speak of the Living Room Incident, as Ron had coined it, and he was a bit stunned that he and Malfoy were able to get along fairly well. They still argued incessantly, but Ron was reminded of the type of bickering arguments he and Hermione used to have back in school. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.   
  
Ron had dragged Malfoy to the Burrow again on Halloween to celebrate the fifth anniversary of DV-Day with friends and family. Harry wasn’t there, though, since he never celebrated the Defeat of Voldemort. The rest of Ron’s family, as well as Hermione and Neville, were there to honor the dead and the sacrifices that were made on that fateful day. Malfoy had been very quiet and solemn during that time, but Ron decided not to push him, as long as Malfoy didn’t mention his father or Ginny. They’d come to an unspoken understanding that those names were never uttered in each other’s presence.  
  
During that time, Ron had managed to learn a lot about Malfoy—what he liked, what he didn’t like (which was quite a long list), his hobbies, his favorite Quidditch teams (Ron was dismayed to learn he supported the Tornados), and so on. Even if he and Malfoy spent a good portion of their time bickering, it reminded Ron strongly of his relationship with Hermione. For some reason, that emboldened him and made him feel more confident.  
  
He knew now that Malfoy was gay as well, though they had never actually said anything about it. He also knew that Malfoy liked to sleep in late—every single day—and would rarely be seen before noon. The two men would then spend their days talking, taking trips into London, reading (well, Ron did most of that), and walking. It turned out that Malfoy enjoyed his walks, especially around dusk every evening. He and Ron would stroll down to the park and sit on the bench, usually in silence. Although Malfoy couldn’t see the beautiful sunsets, Ron usually didn’t view them either, instead choosing to watch Malfoy’s face light up with the warmth of the sun hit their bodies. As the weeks went by, Ron realized he was becoming more and more enamored with Draco. And that didn’t bother Ron in the least.  
  
Ron had just woken up on a Friday morning to find a long parchment from Lucia begging him to come into the office just so that she could have something to do that didn’t require picking up dry-cleaning or fixing Smethwyck’s comb-over. He had relented, and told Malfoy to hold down the fort while he went into the office. Ron had promised he was only going to stay until lunch, and then he would be home and they could walk down to the park and feed the baby ducks. Apparently Draco had a...fondness for baby animals. Ron had laughed for a good ten minutes before Malfoy had stormed out of the room in a huff and straight into a wall, bruising his nose. He hadn’t spoken to Ron for a day because of it.  
  
A light knock on the door to his office caused Ron to pause in the ever-so thrilling signing of the documents and say, “Come in.”  
  
It turned out to be an anxious-looking Richard. “Hello, Ron.”  
  
Smiling, Ron stood and said, “Hey! Come in, sit down. How are you?”  
  
After settling down in the chair, Richard smiled thinly and responded, “I’m fine. How are you?”  
  
“I’m great,” Ron said sincerely. A silence fell over the room and Ron coughed, taking a moment to look at Richard carefully. The other man seemed to be more frazzled than ever and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. “Is there, er, anything I can help you with?”  
  
Richard frowned and crossed his arms. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he muttered. “And to see if _he_ was still living with you.”  
  
“Of course he is,” said Ron defensively. “Look, I’m not in the mood for a fight. I’m only here for half a day to get these papers signed, and then I’m going home.” He sighed at the look on Richard’s face. “I miss you, Richie,” he said. “I do. Listen...Hermione’s taking Draco into Diagon Alley tomorrow around noon. We’re out of the eye drops, and he’s insisting on helping with the brewing. Why don’t you and I meet for lunch?”  
  
Richard raised his eyes, and Ron got an uneasy feeling in his stomach at the look. “It’s Draco now, is it?”   
  
Ron blushed. “We’ve been living together for a few weeks now, it’s only natural we’d start calling each other by our given names.”  
  
Another loud silence and Ron felt like slamming his head against the desk. “Just meet me for lunch, okay?” he pleaded. “It’ll just be us. I’ll make sure Hermione keeps Draco busy.”  
  
Licking his lips, Richard thought for a few more minutes before he nodded. “Meet at the Leaky at noon? And Malfoy will be at the apothecary?” he asked at last. Ron broke out in a broad smile and nodded. Tomorrow was going to be an excellent day indeed.  
  
~*~

Saturday turned out to be one of the sunniest and warmest Novembers that Ron could recall. As he was getting ready for his not-really-a-date with Richie, he ended up changing several times as the day grew warmer. He ended up wearing a long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and a light jacket. Draco, on the other hand, was apparently a complete pussy when it came to the cold, as he was currently sporting two shirts, a thick cloak, and tailored trousers that accentuated the curve of his arse. Ron pretended not to notice. It didn’t work.  
  
Hermione ended up meeting the two of them at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron was a bit worried about leaving her and Draco alone together; they had got along fairly well during the War, mostly by ignoring each other, but now they would be forced to spend time together, in public, alone.... Ron prayed that Draco wouldn’t congratulate Hermione on “turning Ron gay,” as he had quipped that morning.  
  
Ron also worried about Hermione in general; she was still very pregnant, a week over-due, and looked ready to burst any minute. She couldn’t usually keep up a steady pace any more, instead choosing to waddle her way around, but then again, Draco wasn’t exactly a quick walker any more either. No, he liked going slow and using his cane to hit people to get out of his way. Ron really needed to speak to him about that....  
  
He and Draco walked into the Leaky Cauldron together and Ron spotted Hermione on the other side of the pub near the entrance to Diagon Alley. She waved at them, and the two headed over to her.  
  
“Hello, Ron,” she said, pulling him into an embrace. “Hello, Draco,” she added warmly, holding out her hand. Draco seemed to sense that somehow and held out his right hand as well, shaking hands.  
  
“Granger,” he replied. He then frowned and said, “My lord, are you still pregnant?”  
  
Hermione laughed lightly. “Yes, I am. I’m afraid I’m going to be slowing you down today.”  
  
Smiling slightly, Draco shook his head and held up his cane. “I’m not very quick myself. Care to show me around? I haven’t been to Diagon since the accident.”  
  
Hermione and Draco waved good-bye to Ron and then headed out into the Diagon Alley. Ron shook his head to clear it and then looked eagerly around the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron. Not seeing Richard anywhere, he frowned and glanced at his watch. He realized that in his excitement to get Draco out of the flat, he’d arrived nearly half an hour early for his lunch not-quite-date with Richard. He thought quickly for a moment and decided that he had plenty of time to walk with Hermione and Draco to the apothecary and back for lunch with Richard. Ron quickly sprinted out of the pub and into Diagon Alley. He stared down in the direction of the shop and saw Draco’s white-blond hair gleaming in the sun. Grinning, Ron jogged to catch up.  
  
“Hey!” he said when he’d reached the two. “I didn’t realize how early we were, so I thought I’d join you before meeting Richie.”  
  
Hermione gave him a dubious look, which Ron ignored as he proceeded to engage Draco in another one of their usual conversations about potions and how Draco _was_ ready to begin more complicated activities, thank you very much. Soon, the three found themselves perusing the packed aisles of the apothecary. Hermione had wandered off to look at some potions that could induce labor because she was “really quite through with being pregnant” while he and Draco argued over the regenerative properties of vampire bat wings compared to fruit bat wings. Ron didn’t really know what he was talking about, potions not being his strong suit, but he just liked to see Draco get all flustered and passionate about something.  
  
Ron was enjoying himself so much that by the time he looked at his watch again, he only had a few minutes to make it back down to the Leaky Cauldron. “Shite,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go,” he told Draco, who frowned and ducked his head.   
  
Shifting on his feet, Ron managed to catch Hermione’s eye and indicate that he was going to leave. She smiled at him and inclined her head to go ahead and then joined Draco at the counter to pay for the dozen bottles of potions she’d managed to find. Ron waved one last time and exited the building, half jogging down the street because he didn’t want to be late. He was nearly to the pub when everything went to hell.  
  
A loud explosion echoed down the alley and people began to scream and run for cover. Ron was knocked off his feet and landed with a heavy thud on the hard cobblestone street. It took him a few moments to catch his bearings, and when he did, Ron jumped to his feet and watched in horror as smoke billowed into the sky from the direction he had just come from. With a growing sense of dread and panic, he ran as fast as he could back down the street, pushing past the throng of people who were screaming and fleeing in terror.  
  
The closer he got to the apothecary, the more his stomach tied itself into knots. Injured witches and wizards were lying in the street moaning and crying out for help. Ron stopped, the Healer in him rearing its head, and pointed his wand towards the sky. “ _Expecto Patronum_!” he shouted, and a bright, white terrier burst forth from his wand and quickly scampered off in the direction of St. Mungo’s. He then bent down and began examining the bodies on the ground, thanking God when he found that they were all alive and breathing. Several minutes later, cracks of Apparition could be heard echoing in the alley as Healers arrived en masse. Ron was about to leap into the apothecary when someone grabbed him from behind and whirled him around.  
  
“What are you doing here, Ron?” Richard screamed, a wild, manic look in his eyes. “You were supposed to be in the Leaky Cauldron! Why are you here? _Why are you here?_ ” Richard shook Ron forcefully by the shoulders, jolting him out of his stupor, and Ron pushed Richard away.  
  
“I’ve got to find Hermione and Draco!” he yelled, and ran away as quickly as he could.  
  
“Ron, STOP!” shouted Richard, but Ron ignored him and plowed forward through a group of Aurors who were working valiantly to put out the fire in the shop. His eyes flickered over everything, his heart pounding in his throat, until he heard a faint voice calling his name from behind him.  
  
Spinning around, Ron ran in the direction of the voice and found Draco sitting outside in the street, blood oozing from a large gash in his forehead.   
  
“Fuck, Draco, are you all right?” Ron gasped, frantically running his hands up and down Draco’s body searching for other injuries. “Where’s Hermione?” he demanded.  
  
“We’d just stepped out of the shop,” Draco mumbled, looking dazed. “I think I flew in the air...My head hurts...”  
  
Ron placed his hands on Draco’s cheeks and said, “Where is Hermione?”  
  
Draco’s head lolled forward suddenly and Ron was on the verge of freaking the fuck out when a familiar voice groaned his name. Head snapping to the right, he saw Hermione sitting against a blackened wall, holding her protruding belly with a pained expression on her face. Ron wrapped his arm around Draco’s slim shoulders and hoisted him up.  
  
“C’mon,” he said, struggling to maintain his balance as Draco buried his face into Ron’s neck, getting blood everywhere. He finally made his way over to Hermione, whose jaw was clenched and looked to be in immense pain.   
  
Ron set Draco down carefully next to her and asked, “What’s wrong, Hermione?”  
  
Hermione made a noise Ron wouldn’t classify as human. “I landed on my stomach. I’m bleeding,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to get to St. Mungo’s. The contractions are only two minutes apart.”  
  
“Fuck,” Ron said under his breath. He lifted up Hermione’s skirt a little and said, “I need to see if you’re dilated.”  
  
“Just do it,” she ground out, and then let out a moan when Ron conjured a latex glove and then quickly and discreetly examined Hermione. People were still screaming in the background; Aurors were running all over the place trying to put out the fires whilst Healers worked at getting as many people to the hospital as possible.  
  
“You’re fully dilated,” said Ron, removing his hand, banishing the glove, and casting a cleaning spell. She was bleeding far too much. “But I think I felt a foot. We need to get you to St. Mungo’s now.”  
  
Ron Summoned a large chunk of plaster and tapped it with his wand, uttering a spell, and the item turned blue for a moment. “On the count of three,” he said, gripping Draco and Hermione’s hands, and a few seconds later, they were whirling away to the hospital.  
  
~*~


	3. Part III

Ron had never felt so helpless since Ginny’s death all those years ago. He had managed to get Draco and Hermione safely to St. Mungo’s, and now he, Draco, Harry, Luna, and Neville were sitting in the waiting room to the Labor and Delivery section of the hospital. Draco was asleep in the chair next to Ron, snoring softly; his head wound had been cleaned and healed after they had arrived. Harry was pacing back and forth in the small room, Luna was staring at people in turn, and Neville’s head was buried in his hands. Ron couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.  
  
Hermione had been immediately ushered into the maternity ward upon her arrival, but they had not heard anything from the Healers since. That had been almost three hours ago. Meanwhile, Ron’s fury was growing the longer they waited for news on Hermione and the baby. He was about to go into the delivery room himself and demand some answers when the door to the waiting area opened. His heart sunk, however, when it revealed only Tonks on the other side.  
  
“Harry?” she said quietly. “I need to speak with you.”  
  
Ron watched as his best friend strode out of the room and then turned his attention back to the room; he started slightly when he saw that Luna was staring at him.  
  
She smiled and whispered, “How long?”  
  
Blinking, Ron cocked his head and said, “How long what?”  
  
Luna stood and walked over to where Ron was sitting and squatted in front of him. She nodded her head towards Draco. “How long have you been together?”  
  
He gaped at her and flushed. “We’re not dating,” he said quickly. “Draco’s staying with me because of his eyesight.”  
  
She stared owlishly at him with wide blue eyes, causing Ron’s hairs to stand on end, when the door to the room opened again. This time, Richard was standing on the other side of it. “Neville Longbottom?”  
  
Neville’s head snapped up and he shot out of his chair. “That’s me,” he said breathlessly.  
  
Richard looked determinedly at Neville, refusing to set eyes on Ron or Draco, and said, “Hermione’s fine and so is the baby. There was some internal bleeding, but we were able to stop it and safely deliver the baby. You can come and see them now.” Neville sprinted out of the room and Richard followed, still not acknowledging Ron. Harry came into the room a second later.  
  
“Hermione and the baby are fine,” Ron told him. Luna stood up and walked over to Harry, hugging him. They stood together, embracing, for several minutes, and Ron felt something in his chest break. He averted his eyes, which landed on Draco’s sleeping form. His face was very close to Ron’s, with puffs of air ruffling his hair ever so slightly.  
  
He started when a hand touched his shoulder. Looking up, he found Harry watching him with an odd look in his eye; Luna was nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Wake him up,” Harry whispered, motioning towards Draco. Ron shook his shoulder slightly, and Draco mumbled something before his eyes fluttered open.  
  
“Wassit?” he mumbled.  
  
“Draco, Harry needs to talk to us,” Ron murmured. Draco’s eyes opened more fully and he pushed himself into a sitting position.  
  
“What is it?” he asked, rubbing at his neck.  
  
Harry frowned and pulled up a chair so that he could sit facing the two of them. “We have some new information about the explosion,” he began, looking exhausted. “After the Aurors distinguished the fire, they found evidence of a bomb. Someone planted it there on purpose...” Harry trailed off and briefly closed his eyes. “We have reason to believe that...that Malfoy was the target of the attack,” he said at last.  
  
“What?” Ron blurted, staring at Harry incredulously. “How the hell would you know something like that?”  
  
Shaking his head quickly, Harry turned to Draco and asked, “Malfoy, do you know of anyone who would have a personal grudge against you or your family?”  
  
“Everyone,” Draco said meekly; Ron had never heard him sound like that before. “Purebloods hate me because I fought with you; Death Eaters hate me because I betrayed them; everyone else hates me because of my father or my name.”  
  
“This is absurd,” snapped Ron, feeling out of control.  
  
“Ron,” Harry said patiently, “the magical components and signatures at the explosions in the potions lab and at the apothecary are identical. They were from the same wand, ergo, the same wizard. We suspect he may have a vendetta against Malfoy.”  
  
“Shite.”  
  
“Pretty much,” Harry muttered, running his hand through his messy black hair. “We’re putting you under twenty-four hour surveillance,” he told Draco, who made a face. “There will be an Auror posted at the door to your building until we catch this psycho,” Harry continued. “And whenever you go outside, you will be watched. Don’t go anywhere alone.”  
  
“I get it,” Draco bit out, looking pale and angry. Ron squeezed his hand, and then startled himself; he hadn’t realized they’d been holding hands.  
  
“The Aurors say you’re free to go,” said Harry. “But I figured you’d want to see Hermione and the baby first.”  
  
Ron nodded gratefully and pulled himself out of the chair, and then helped Draco up as well. He took his arm, since Draco’s cane had been lost in the explosion, and led him out of the room. Harry watched them go with a small frown.  
  
~*~

“If you get a headache, let me know,” Ron informed Draco as they entered their flat.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said mulishly, and headed for the kitchen. “I need to take the draught and get my drops. My eyes are itching.”  
  
Sighing, Ron hung up his jacket and Draco’s cloak and followed him into the kitchen. “Can you see anything at all?” he asked, opening a cabinet and fetching the potion.  
  
“Everything’s a grey blur, but yeah, sort of,” said Draco, and sat down. He looked up and stared at Ron with an unfocused look in his eyes. “I can see movement, but no color. I’m not going to be color blind, am I?” he asked, looking alarmed.  
  
“I highly doubt it,” Ron replied, joining Draco at the table and pushing the potion over to him. “Drink up.”  
  
Draco groped for the glass and nearly spilled it, but recovered and quickly gulped down the concoction. Ron stood and walked around to behind Draco as he tilted his head back and opened his eyes wide.   
  
“I was going to ask if I could have a key to the flat,” Draco said as Ron put the drops in one eye, and then the other. “But I suppose that’s not such a good idea anymore.”  
  
Putting the drops back in the cabinet, Ron remained silent as he began to make sandwiches for dinner; they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was nearly eight o’clock now. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off the explosion and Hermione and the baby and Draco...  
  
“I figured that since I was getting better, I could walk down to the park and scare some of the kids,” Draco continued blithely. “Poke them with my cane, you know?”  
  
“Don’t poke children,” Ron said absently, as he violently chopped up a carrot. A chair scrape against the floor and he heard Draco approach him. Ron’s heart pounded in his chest and his entire body became acutely aware of Draco’s presence when he came to a stop behind him.  
  
Placing a hand over Ron’s, he ceased chopping and began to shake. “You’re mangling that vegetable, Ron,” Draco breathed into Ron’s ear, causing him to shudder. Draco interlaced his lithe fingers with Ron’s broader ones and carefully raised the knife.  
  
“You’ve got to use smooth strokes,” he whispered, bringing the knife down and slicing into the remains of the carrot. Draco nuzzled Ron’s neck and then ever so slightly bit his ear.  
  
With the roar of blood in his ears, Ron whirled to face Draco and kissed him hard on the mouth. Moaning, Draco kissed back just as enthusiastically, running his tongue along the seam of Ron’s mouth. Ron groaned in return and spun Draco around, pinning his smaller frame against the counter and grinding against him.   
  
Tearing his mouth away, Ron buried his face in Draco’s neck and sucked hard on his pulse point, eliciting a loud gasp. Draco gripped at Ron’s hair and tugged, kissing Ron again and thrusting his tongue into Ron’s mouth. A low rumble of pleasure escaped Ron’s throat as Draco did very wicked things with his tongue and hips. Draco then threw his head back and cried out when Ron ground their erections together.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you today,” Ron said, ripping open Draco’s shirt and sending buttons flying everywhere. He bent down and licked at a nipple before tugging it between his teeth. Draco’s hands tightened in his hair and he hissed in pleasure. Ron repeated the action on the other nipple, and Draco hummed. Ron straightened and kissed Draco again, pouring as much of his emotions as possible into the kiss. He gripped at Draco’s arse and squeezed.  
  
“Fuck yeah,” Ron groaned as their erections pulsed against one another. He scrambled to unbutton the flies to his jeans, and Draco did the same. Ron sighed in relief and pleasure when his cock was finally freed, and he pumped his erection and watched in awe as Draco too freed himself from his trousers.  
  
Batting Draco’s hand away, Ron gripped both their cocks in his hand and they groaned at the contact.  
  
“Ah, f-fuck,” Draco stuttered, letting his head fall back and pumping his hips, his cock sliding in and out of Ron’s fist.  
  
Ron reached up with his other hand and tugged at Draco’s hair, forcing his head to fall back down. He kissed him again, thrusting his tongue into Draco’s mouth in rhythm with the slide of his hand on their cocks. Draco grabbed Ron’s arse and urged him to go faster.  
  
The pressure was building; Ron’s breaths were coming in short puffs against Draco’s mouth and he was so fucking close. He was so close, his hand was a blur as it pumped their cocks, and he had to fucking come or he would _die_. So close so close so close....Draco shouted once and came, his come spurting high into the air, and that was all it took to push Ron over the edge. A second later, he was groaning and coming all over his hand and Draco’s stomach, the pleasure so intense that white bursts of light flashed behind Ron’s eyes, and it felt so fucking _good_ and Ron didn’t want it to stop.  
  
Shaking, Ron gave their cocks one last squeeze before dropping his hand and stumbling backwards. Draco’s head was still thrown back and his flushed chest was heaving; he looked as if his knees would give out at any moment.  
  
The air was thick with the scent of sex and Ron watched as Draco leaned forward and raised his hands to his chest, which was still spattered with Ron’s semen.  
  
“Fuck,” Draco said breathlessly, swiping up some come and rubbing it between his fingers. A burst of arousal shot down into Ron’s cock as he watched Draco smear his semen into his own skin. Surging forward, Ron kissed Draco, their tongues sliding together and teeth clacking. Ron then dropped down to his knees and proceeded to lick his come off Draco’s stomach.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Draco moaned again, burying his hands in Ron’s hair. He seemed to like doing that, and Ron was sure as hell not complaining.  
  
He licked at Draco’s bellybutton one last time before looking up and watching Draco. His face was flushed and his hair tousled in the sexiest way imaginable. His cock was still hanging out of his trousers, but Ron could tell his arousal was already growing again.   
  
Ron stood slowly and leaned his entire frame against Draco’s. Putting his mouth next to Draco’s ear, he whispered, “I want to fuck you until you come screaming my name.”  
  
Draco whimpered and he shut his eyes, licking his lips. “Yes,” he hissed. Moaning, Ron grasped Draco’s shoulders and ushered the two of them quickly into his bedroom. Although Ron wanted desperately to turn on the lights so that he could see Draco and his gorgeous body, there was a little voice inside him that said to keep the lights off, that it would be better that way. Ron could now “see” Draco the same way Draco was able to see Ron.  
  
They kissed slowly at first, exploring each other’s mouths as they undressed each other, shirts and trousers sliding to the floor. Once on the bed, Ron straddled Draco’s waist, loving how Draco’s cock was pressed against his arse, and began to run his hands up and down his smooth skin, plucking at nipples, sometimes biting, other times licking and sucking. It was breathtaking how responsive Draco was; Ron figured him for the more quiet type.  
  
When they were both past the point of coherent speech, they communicated through touch and gasps and sighs. And when Ron finally slid into Draco’s body, it was bliss. They surged together, skin slapping erotically, grunts filling the room, Ron showing Draco the pleasure he could give a man, and Draco taking it all, pulling Ron into his body, wrapping his legs tightly around Ron’s hips.  
  
They came within minutes, Draco stroking his cock as Ron pounded into him, and after it was over and their bodies sated and exhausted and a little sticky, they curled together, sleeping and finding peace in the other’s presence.  
  
~*~

Ron woke the next morning feeling sated and thoroughly shagged. He grinned into the soft morning light that was creeping into his bedroom and rolled over onto his side.  
  
Draco wasn’t there.  
  
Ron shot up and stared at the empty space next to him, then hopped out of bed and into a pair of pajama bottoms. After grabbing his wand, he rushed out of the room, still wiping the sleep from his eyes, when the smell hit him.  
  
It was bacon. Cooking. In a frying pan.  
  
More shocked than anything, Ron tentatively stepped into the kitchen and grinned at the sight before him. Draco was standing at his stove, humming to himself and swinging his hips slightly as he made bacon. He was wearing Ron’s bathrobe, which was too wide in the shoulders by half. For some reason, this aroused Ron more than anything.  
  
Smiling, Ron walked over to where Draco was standing and wrapped his arms around his waist. Ron kissed Draco on the cheek and nuzzled his neck, then asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Draco shook his head and smirked. “What does it look like, Weasley? I’m making breakfast, something you’ve never been able to accomplish.”  
  
“Ooh, I love it when you talk nasty to me.” Ron squeezed Draco tighter and pushed his erection into the curve of Draco’s arse. “Last night was amazing,” he murmured, licking the shell of Draco’s ear.  
  
Shuddering, Draco pressed back against Ron and reached over to turn off the stove; the popping of the bacon began to cease. “It was amazing,” he whispered, almost too soft for Ron to hear. Draco turned around and hugged Ron tightly for several minutes, then pulled back and kissed him on the mouth, hard and needy and hot, and Ron groaned when their cocks brushed together through the layers of cloth. Then he had a brilliant idea. Pulling back, Ron grinned at Draco, kissed him once more, and then sank down to his knees. He untied the bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Ron’s cock pulsed at the sight of Draco’s erection bobbing in front of his face, red and thick and leaking precome.  
  
But Ron didn’t touch Draco’s cock. Instead, he looked up and said huskily, “Turn around.”  
  
Draco inhaled sharply, but he quickly complied, turning around and bracing his arms on the counter top. “Take off the robe,” said Ron breathlessly. Draco shed the bathrobe and leaned into the counter, his arse sticking out in the air. Licking his lips, Ron ran his rough hands up Draco’s legs and settled them on his arms, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh. Draco breathed in sharply above him. Ron parted Draco’s cheeks and smiled inwardly at the sight of Draco open and exposed to him.  
  
Ron removed a hand from Draco’s arse and sucked his pointer finger into his mouth, wetting it. He then gently ran the wet tip over the tight hole, and Draco grasped and pushed back shamelessly. Grinning, Ron continued to run his finger over the ring of muscle before pressing in. Draco moaned loudly as Ron’s finger probed further inside him.  
  
Taking his finger out, Ron leaned forward and blew cool air on the wet flash, eliciting another moan and a shudder from Draco.  
  
“W-What are you doing?” he gasped, twisting his head around to look at Ron.  
  
Ron ignored him and leant forward, swiping his tongue in one long stroke over Draco’s hole.  
  
“Oh bloody fucking _fuck_!” Draco’s head fell forward and he began to shake as Ron licked and sucked, driving his tongue past the muscle and causing Draco to buck and shout out.  
  
Pulling back, Ron inserted a finger again, and then two, trying to find that one spot, crooking his fingers, he knew where it was...  
  
Draco shouted out in surprise and pleasure. “Oh fuck oh fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”  
  
That was all Ron needed to hear. He sprang to his feet, his own cock bobbing, hard and leaking, and somehow managed to summon the lubricant from his bedroom. He spread a liberal amount onto his fingers, coating his cock, keening at the sensation, _it felt so fucking good_ , and then inserted two fingers into Draco’s arse.  
  
Panting, Draco shook his head frantically and said, “No, no, no fingers, just fuck me, your cock, _Godplease_.”  
  
With a grunt, Ron positioned his cock and slid into Draco, the tight heat squeezing his cock, _oh fuck yeah_ , not waiting for Draco to get used to the intrusion because he was pushing back and tugging at his cock, moaning and gasping each time Ron withdrew and slammed into him. Draco was so fucking hot, his body splayed out, clutching at the counter, biting his lip and _moaning_ , and Ron knew he wasn’t going to last long. His balls were pulled tight against his body, the pleasure searing through him, each thrust bringing him closer and closer to the edge.  
  
Draco was so tight and so hot around him, and he was pulling so hard at his cock, his entire body flushed and covered with a small sheen of sweat. He was murmuring, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, _come on_ ” under his breath, and Ron snapped.  
  
He came with a low groan, spending himself in Draco, spasms of pleasure shooting from his cock and spreading _everywhere_ , it felt so fucking _good_ , and Ron didn’t want it to ever stop.   
  
Still shaking slightly from the aftershocks, Ron pulled out of Draco’s body and watched as his come dribbled out of his hole. Draco hadn’t come yet, and so Ron turned him around, kissing him hard, and then dropped to his knees. He sucked Draco’s cock as far down his throat as possible, relishing in how Draco shouted out in surprise and then shuddered, threading his hands in Ron’s vivid hair and thrusting his hips.  
  
Ron slurped at Draco’s cock, working his hands along the shaft and balls, and it didn’t take very long before Draco was gasping and coming down Ron’s throat, hands gripping his hair and pulling hard. When he was finally spent, Ron pulled back and wiped his mouth, grinning up at Draco, who was panting above him.  
  
He looked down at Ron with a satisfied and content look on his face. “You’re really fucking great at that,” he said, smiling lazily.  
  
Ron grinned cockily. “At what? Fucking or sucking?” he asked, hauling himself up.  
  
Draco grabbed him by the waist and pulled their bodies flush together, kissing Ron firmly on the mouth. “Everything,” Draco whispered, and kissed him some more.  
  
~*~

Ron was sitting on the sofa in his living room reading a book to Draco later that evening, occasionally groping one another, when there were several rapid knocks on his door. Alarmed, he stood up and crossed to his door, finding Harry on the other side.  
  
“Hey!” Ron said, surprised. “What are you doing here, mate?”  
  
Harry looked shiftily into the living room. Seeing Draco, he leaned in close to Ron and whispered, “I need to talk to you. Alone.”  
  
Wide-eyed, Ron nodded and led Harry into his kitchen, closing the door behind him. Harry threw himself into a chair and proceeded to thud his head against the table.  
  
“What the hell?” Ron blurted, rushing over to Harry and holding his head up by the hair. “Harry, _what is it?_ ”  
  
“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Harry muttered distractedly. “But you—Malfoy—you’re in danger and you need to know.”  
  
“ _What,_ Harry?” stressed Ron, sitting down opposite him, his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
Harry scrubbed at his face and then said, “Over the past week, there have been three very brutal murders that have occurred throughout the country.”  
  
Ron gaped at him, not understanding. “What? I haven’t heard anything in the news. And what does that have to do with Draco?” he asked slowly.  
  
“Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Marcus Flint,” Harry gasped out.  
  
Ron shook his head, confused. “I—what?”  
  
“They’re dead. Very, very dead,” said Harry, looking pained. “And they’re all connected to Malfoy.”  
  
“What, because they were all in Slytherin?” Ron said scathingly, ignoring the pain in his stomach at the news.  
  
“They were all suspected of being Death Eaters,” explained Harry, running his hands through his messy hair. “Suspected, but never confirmed one way or the other, like Malfoy. And…” He trailed off uncertainly.  
  
“And what?” demanded Ron.  
  
Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry took a deep breath, then said, “I haven’t been able to read the actual transcript yet, but they were all named together in a trial testimony concerning the murder of a Wizarding family years ago. The file’s classified, though, so I don’t know what the exact details are, but I can sneak in tonight and look into it. For now, though, you need to stick close to Malfoy and—”  
  
“I’m going with you.”  
  
Harry stopped speaking and gaped at Ron for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry, was ‘stick close to Malfoy’ not clear enough for you? Hell no, you’re not going!”  
  
“He’s safe here, no one can get in!”  
  
“He’s not safe anywhere!”  
  
“I’m going with you,” said Ron stubbornly, crossing his arms and daring Harry to say no.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to do just that, but then he looked at Ron, really looked at him, and realized that his best friend needed to do this. For Draco.  
  
“You really care for him, don’t you?” he said softly.  
  
Ron looked back at him steadily. “Yes.”  
  
Nodding, Harry stood and cracked his back. “Meet me at the public entrance for the Ministry at midnight,” he said. “Get someone over here that can keep a lookout and watch over Malfoy.”  
  
Ron stood as well and looked at Harry quizzically. “Who?”  
  
“Someone you trust,” was all he said.  
  
~*~

Ron had told Draco that he was just running out for some take-away. He hated lying to Draco, but he didn’t have a choice. This was the only way he could get out without being hassled by the Aurors.  
  
He nervously approached the small house and rang the doorbell. Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, Ron rocked on the balls of his feet waiting for the door to open. A few moments passed before the door opened and Richard was staring at Ron, looking surprised.  
  
“Can I come in?” Ron asked, and Richard nodded, stepping aside.  
  
Richard led Ron to the living, and was asking if he’d like a drink when Ron blurted, “I need a favor from you.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Richard sat down and said, “What for?”  
  
Ron swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I need you to go to my flat tonight,” he said at last. “I…need someone to be there. Tonight. Just for a few hours.”  
  
Richard stared at Ron with an intense, burning look in his eyes. Ron shivered. “Is he still there?” he asked, sounding a bit strangled.  
  
“Yes,” said Ron. “But he’ll be asleep,” he added quickly.  
  
“And where will you be?” asked Richard, still with that strange quality to his voice.  
  
Ron exhaled loudly. “Out,” he replied. “For an hour or so. Please, Richie, I know I’m asking a lot, but please, do this for me. I’ll do anything in return, I swear.”  
  
Pale green eyes glistened as a small smile broke out on Richard’s face. “Of course, Ron,” he said. “What time should I get there?”  
  
So overcome with joy, and not a little surprised, Ron grinned widely and said, “About a quarter till midnight. That okay?”  
  
“That’s perfectly fine,” breathed Richard. Ron missed the strange look on his face.  
  
~*~

“Who’s watching Malfoy?” asked Harry. He and Ron were riding down the phone booth lift on their way to the Ministry of Magic. They were both hiding underneath Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, though Ron was sure a good foot of his legs were showing.  
  
“Richard,” he answered in a hushed voice. He felt Harry nod against him in approval.  
  
“Okay, once we’re in the Atrium, we need to go right and take a lift to the Auror department,” explained Harry. “Only I will be able to get into the file office to retrieve the transcript and Pensieve recording of the trial, so I’m going to have you sit at my desk with the Cloak and keep a look-out.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Ron murmured, who felt as if there were Snitches flying around inside his stomach.  
  
It seemed like it took ages before Harry finally showed back up at his desk carrying a Pensieve, a memory phial, and a large file. “I didn’t get a chance to look at any of it,” Harry explained, letting the items fall to his desk with a _thud_. “Which do you want? The memory or the file?”  
  
Ron eyed the thick looking folder but decided to go with the Pensieve memory instead, believing that it would be the more objective of the two accounts. Harry nodded in agreement and poured the vapor-like liquid into the bowl. He looked at Ron one last time before gripping his shoulder and dunking his head into the Pensieve. With a jolt, Ron felt his entire body plummeting forward and down, down, down until he landed in an empty chair next to Harry, who had the misfortune to land in Rita Skeeter’s lap.  
  
“Bloody hell,” Ron murmured as he took in the room. They were in the middle of Courtroom Ten in the Ministry of Magic. Below them was the Wizengamot in their full glory, Rufus Scrimgeour standing out most prominently in the fore.   
  
Ron was too busy staring in awe at the room, which he’d never been in before, to notice that the trial had begun. It wasn’t until he heard Draco’s name that he snapped to attention.  
  
“Draco Malfoy,” Scrimgeour was saying, “along with the suspected Death Eaters Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Marcus Flint, has been accused of assisting in the brutal murder of the Muggles Warren Maus, his wife Liesel, and their two daughters, Ilse and Klara, on the evening of 24 October 1999. According to eye-witness testimony, these four men aided known Death Eaters Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair in the murders of these four Muggles.”  
  
Scrimgeour rustled through some parchment. “Ah,” he said when he extracted the one he’d wanted. Looking up, Scrimgeour peered at someone below him and said, “Mr. Maus, you are quoted with saying that you, without a doubt, saw and identified the accused at your home in Kidderminster, Worcestershire on October 24th and that they aided in the deaths of your parents and sisters. However, according to a sworn statement given by Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy was with him that night, the entire night, working on the destruction of the last of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s Horcruxes. How do you explain Mr. Malfoy being in two places at once?”  
  
Ron watched in growing horror as Richard stood up from his chair and smoothed down the front of his worn robes. “Sir,” he said in a rising voice, “I know what I saw that night. I saw Malfoy there! I _know_ he was there. He must have Confunded Potter, or—or something, but I saw him kill my baby sisters and—!”  
  
“Mr. Maus, calm down!” Scrimgeour exclaimed, banging his gavel. “In the reports filed by St. Mungo’s staff that night, you had been put under the Cruciatus Curse several times. It is possible, then, that you may have been suffering under a delusional episode that led you to believe that Draco Malfoy and these other men were there that night at your house. Furthermore, Messrs Nott, Zabini, and Flint also have alibis, confirmed by Veritaserum administered by our own Aurors.”   
  
Removing his spectacles, Scrimgeour rubbed his eyes for a moment, then replaced them and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Maus, but these men are innocent and played no part in the death of your family.”  
  
Richard’s face drained entirely of its color. “You can’t do that!” he shouted, striding forward towards the judges’ balcony, looking completely out of his mind. “They killed my family!” he shrieked, as guards grabbed him by the waist and dragged him back. “Let go of me! LET ME GO! THEY KILLED THEM! I’LL KILL THEM IF IT’S THE LAST THING I—!”  
  
With a whoosh and a feeling as if his stomach was going to drop out of his body, Ron and Harry landed back at Harry’s desk, both pale and shaking.  
  
“I don’t believe it,” Ron whispered, swallowing against the bile that was rising in his throat. “Richard—he would n-never do that. Never. I can’t—”  
  
“His family had just died,” reasoned Harry. “Of course he was distraught. I would—was, after Ginny…” Harry turned his head away and coughed roughly. He then suddenly grabbed the file folder and tore it open, reading rapidly.  
  
“He got a N.E.W.T. in Potions and Defense,” Harry read. “Oh God…”  
  
“What?” Ron grunted, feeling sick.  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Harry looked up and said, “Did you know that Richard used to work in the Experimental Spells office? His specializations were hexes, curses…and the Unforgivables.”  
  
“No,” Ron choked out. He couldn’t believe it. He refused…  
  
“For a while, he worked with Wesley Scott in the potions laboratory,” Harry continued in a whisper. “They knew each other. I remember,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I remember being interviewed. I was asked where Malfoy was that night, and of course, that was when we destroyed Hufflepuff’s Cup with the Four Elements Spell. Malfoy was air…”  
  
“NO,” Ron said, slowly losing all sense of control. Harry looked up sharply and grabbed Ron by the shoulders; and then something suddenly occurred to him.   
  
“Ron,” said Harry, panicking, “Ron, fuck, we’ve got to get back to your flat. Ron, come on! COME ON!” With a roar, Harry tore Ron away from his desk and forced him down the corridors and into a lift. Once they’d finally made it outside, Harry Apparated them both to Ron’s flat. The Aurors who were supposed to be standing guard were gone.  
  
“Fuck,” hissed Harry, and he quickly scanned the area with his wand. “ _Fuck_. They’re not here. Ron, where are you going?” Harry yelped when Ron ran to the front door of the building, threw it open, and ran up the stairs.  
  
Bursting through his front door, Ron ran into his flat and shouted, “Draco!” The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. Panic settling in the pit of his stomach, Ron turned on every light in his house as he search through the bedrooms, the bathroom, the cupboards, _anywhere_.  
  
“No,” Ron said for the millionth time that night. The flat was empty. No one was there. “NO! FUCK!” He felt sick, so sick that Ron though he might throw up any second. His heart was pounding in his chest, bile rising in his throat. Draco was gone. Richard had taken him.  
  
Richard was a murderer and he’d tried to kill Draco and Hermione. And Ron had unknowingly given him all the information he’d needed.  
  
Right after Ron vomited, he passed out.  
  
It must have been only an hour later when Ron woke up to find his flat swarming with Aurors. He was on his sofa covered with a lopsided blanket Hermione had knitted him years ago. He saw Harry standing in the corner by his fireplace talking intensely with Tonks and Shacklebolt. His eyes moving over the other occupants of the room, Ron was surprised to see his parents standing near the kitchen door, both looking drawn and worried.  
  
Pushing himself up and brushing off a wave of dizziness, Ron took a couple of deep breaths and then stood. He needed to know what was going on, what was being done for Draco. To rescue him. Because he was still alive. Ron squeezed his eyes shut at the thought that Draco wasn’t.  
  
His mother saw him and looked as if she wanted to rush over and coddle him, but Ron’s dad held her back, for which Ron was grateful. He quickly made his way over to Harry, just in time to hear him say, “There has to be a coincidence in where we found those three bodies and Maus’s family home—Ron! You’re awake.”  
  
“What about Richard’s home?” Ron asked sharply. Harry exchanged a look with Tonks and Shacklebolt.  
  
“Er, I dunno if I should tell you—”  
  
“Dammit, Harry,” Ron barked. “I have a right to know!”  
  
“Ron, this is an active case,” interjected a worried-looking Tonks. “Right now, if we say anything, it could end up backfiring badly. I’m sorry, but we can’t tell you anything more.”  
  
With gritted teeth, Ron managed not to explode at Tonks, instead choosing to back away and walk towards the door.  
  
“Hey, where are you going?” Harry asked, coming up behind him.  
  
“I just need some air, is that okay?” snapped Ron.  
  
Harry was a little taken-aback, but nodded and followed Ron out the door, down the stairs, and outside, where they could be blissfully alone. Turning on Harry, Ron demanded, “So tell me about the deaths and their connection to Richard’s home.”  
  
Mouth agape, Harry stared at Ron incredulously. “I can’t tell you!” he hissed.  
  
Ron crossed his arms and straightened his back, leaving him to tower over Harry and hopefully, give him some leverage. “If you don’t tell me, it’ll just take that much longer for me to find Draco.”  
  
Harry sighed and looked utterly torn. His eyes swept over the street, and satisfied that no one was around, said, “The bodies of Zabini, Nott, and Flint were all found within Kidderminster. They’d been dead for a while, though, but we believe that Maus—Richard. Fuck. We believe that he dumped the bodies after getting nervous, especially since Malfoy was still alive and could possibly identify him.”  
  
Ron was quiet for a very long time before saying, “Richard took me to Kidderminster a while back. He wanted me to see his home. It’s a warehouse now, did you know?”  
  
Harry paled considerably. “You’ve…been there before?”  
  
Ron didn’t hear Harry shout his name before he Disapparated.  
  
~*~

Ron had only been to Kidderminster once, and that was about a year or so ago, around the same time. Richard had wanted Ron to see where he’d grown up, since Ron was always having him over at the Burrow. It had been a very somber visit, and Richard had been very quiet after they’d seen the warehouse that now stood on the property. Ron recalled that he and Richard had had a conversation about death and loss. Ginny had figured prominently. So had Lucius Malfoy. Richard had asked Ron that if he could, would he kill Malfoy himself as revenge for Ginny’s death? For the life of him, Ron couldn’t remember what he said. But he wondered if it was then Richard decided to get the ultimate vengeance on the people who ruined his life.   
  
The warehouse was at the end of a deserted street, which Ron didn’t think was a good omen, and cautiously approached the dilapidated building. He didn’t notice any lights, but he knew that Richard was smart enough to cover his tracks.  
  
 _Don’t think about Richard now,_ Ron told himself sternly. He had to get to Draco. He had to save him.  
  
It took Ron almost fifteen minutes to find a door he could open with a simple Unlocking Charm, and once he was inside, his entire body was a jumble of nerves. It didn’t help that he was sweating profusely and breathing like a ruddy hippogriff in heat.   
  
Ron figured he was near the back of the warehouse, where the offices were located. He had no idea where Richard might have taken Draco, but he figured he should keep going forward. Draco just had to be there somewhere.  
  
Finally, Ron came to the opening to the main storage facility. It was pitch black inside the giant room, but Ron didn’t dare light his wand for fear of Richard striking him or Draco. He stood in silence for what felt like hours, listening, barely breathing. _Where are they?_ he thought frantically. They _had_ to be there!  
  
Suddenly every light in the facility came on with a blinding force and Ron found himself standing in the center of the room. Draco was tied to a chair not ten feet to his right.  
  
Richard was in front of Ron holding a wand to his face.  
  
“I thought you’d come,” he whispered. Richard’s normally light green eyes were bloodshot and wild. He had several bruises on his chin and cheeks, as if he’d been in a fistfight recently. Or a scuffle. Ron mentally cheered Draco.  
  
“Richard,” Ron choked out, “don’t do this. We can get you some help—”  
  
“Lower your wand,” Richard said in an eerily calm voice.  
  
“Richard, please,” Ron pleaded, giving up all pretense of bravery. He was scared out of his mind, but not for himself. He was terrified that Richard would do something to Draco.  
  
“SHUT UP!” Richard shrieked. “Lower your wand and throw it away!”  
  
Swallowing, Ron nodded and slowly let his arm fall down to his side and then tossed his wand to the right.  
  
“Good,” hissed Richard. “Yeah. Good.” He grinned maniacally then and let out a scathing laugh. “Who’d’ve thought it! Ron Weasley, Ron ‘I-Always-Top’ Weasley, throwing away his only source of power!” Richard bared his teeth and snarled. “Funny how you were never willing to make any of those sacrifices for me.”  
  
“This isn’t about you and me, Richard,” Ron said shakily. “This is about you.”  
  
“You’re right.” Richard began edging towards where Ron had tossed his wand. “You’re right, you’re right, I know that, but I can’t help but feel a little….Oh, what’s the word? BETRAYED,” he screamed, “that you _left_ me for _him_! For a Death Eater! A murderer!”  
  
“He never killed anyone!” shouted Ron, taking a very small step backwards when Richard was eyeing the wand. “He was with me and Harry and Hermione that night your family was killed. I was there, I know it’s the truth!”  
  
“It was a trick!” Richard was within reach of the wand. “I SAW Malfoy!”  
  
“He was with us that night!” Fuck, Ron needed to get to that wand before Richard did. He needed to distract him. Thinking quickly, and a bit wildly, Ron said, “You probably made it all up anyway!”  
  
Richard froze and he glared venomously at Ron. “What?” he growled.  
  
“Yeah, you made it up,” Ron said, throwing caution to the wind and taking another step closer to the wand. “You weren’t satisfied with just Lucius Malfoy and Macnair’s deaths, no, you needed more blood, you needed vengeance. So you made up this story about how Malfoy and a few other Slytherins aided in the death of your family because, hey, you never had any love-loss for the House anyway, am I right?”  
  
Richard was so incensed he was shaking and his attention was now firmly focused on Ron. He only needed to get a little bit closer to the wand now…  
  
Suddenly, there was a roar, a shout, a body hurtling through the air. Richard screamed and was knocked backwards as Draco barreled into Richard’s chest, knocking him to the ground. They wrestled for Richard’s wand, and it was all happening so fast. Ron dived to get his wand when there was a flash of light, another scream, and then he was thrown twenty feet into the air. He landed hard on his back, the air knocked completely out of him, as Draco and Richard rolled around on the floor, punching and biting at one another. Ron struggled to sit up, to go help fight, but his ribs screamed in protest and the pain was too much to bear. He probably broke something important, Ron thought madly.  
  
Draco and Richard were shouting, there were screams, groans, Ron would barely see, his vision was blurring the pain was so bad, and then a voice shouted, “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”  
  
There was an ungodly tearing noise, a choked cry, more shuffling, and then blessed silence.  
  
 _Please, God, please let Draco be all right, please…_   
  
That was the last thought Ron had before the darkness encompassed him and he no longer felt the pain.

~*~

The room was so blindingly white that Ron reckoned he was in heaven. Surely he’d see an angel any second now….And of course Ginny would be one as well. He was looking forward to seeing her again….  
  
“If you don’t wake up, I’m going to replace that hideous sofa with one that’s green and silver.”  
  
Ron smiled lazily at the voice. Draco. He must be in heaven, too. Ron always knew Draco was a good man.  
  
“And then I’ll be forced to rid the flat of that coffee table as well. Hell, Ron, why didn’t you tell me the truth about your furniture when I first moved in?”  
  
Why Draco was talking about sofas and coffee tables was beyond Ron. _But whatever makes him happy,_ he thought languidly.  
  
“And finally, the orange in your room. You know how I never approved of the Cannons anyway. Now I’ll just have an excuse to cover your room in Tornados paraphernalia.”  
  
 _What? Draco can’t do that! The Tornados suck!_  
  
“Ron? Ron! Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand, love, come on, squeeze my hand…”  
  
 _Love…?_  
  
The white was just as glaringly bright with his eyes open as it was when he was unconscious, Ron though. Squinting, and a bit nauseous from the pain in his back, Ron turned his head slightly and found Draco sitting in a chair beside his bed, holding his hand in a death grip.  
  
“Ron,” Draco gasped when he saw Ron’s blue eyes. With considerable self-restraint, Draco bit his lip and swallowed audibly. “Fuck, Ron, I didn’t—you weren’t waking up—” He let out a soft choked sob and then buried his head into Ron’s thigh.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you,” Draco whispered hoarsely.  
  
Ron ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and tugged gently. Draco raised his head and it was then Ron noticed the glasses.  
  
“What are these?” he asked teasingly.  
  
“You’ve been out for about a week,” Draco explained. “While I was here, too, the Healers ran some tests on my eyes and said that they weren’t going to get any better without some kind of surgery. So I had to get glasses.” Draco took them off and examined them. “At least they’re not as horrendous as Potter’s.”  
  
Ron guffawed and then began to cough, which only made the pain in the back escalate. Once the fit subsided, Ron settled back against his pillows and asked, “What happened to Richard?”  
  
Draco’s face clouded over and he turned his head. “He was going to cast the Killing Curse on you. I had to stop him.”  
  
“He’s dead.” It was a statement, not a question. Somehow, Ron knew that Richard wouldn’t survive. His heart ached then for a former friend and lover Ron had known for the past four years. He had taught Ron much about life and relationships; he’d delivered Hermione’s baby. But Richard was sick, consumed by anger and lust for revenge. The Richard that Ron knew had died a long time ago, he realized. It still didn’t hurt any less, though.  
  
“I’m not sorry,” Draco stated. Ron looked up and stared evenly back at Draco.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Draco gave Ron a tentative smile, and Ron remembered something then. Grinning, he tugged Draco forward until he was nearly on the bed. “Oh, and Draco? You’re not touching my bedroom.”  
  
The sound of laughter filled the air.   
  
_Fin_


End file.
